Broken glass like diamonds beneath the hibiscus flowers at the train station, in the sun, beside the track. My first vision of Morocco. I sit on the train watching the landcape go by as I touch-type these words. It seems possible that I will be able to focus after all. Malaga is gone now, and there is a root connection that began at Alhambra and is now fully happening here in Morocco.

Riding past fields first of garbage and shacks, then to rural life, with donkeys, an old trailer, some cows, and cubes - buildings. I think about cinder blocks and how Cubans built so many houses with the cubes. And in the sun, the train winds along hills and scrub, not much to see but the sky, the land and the occasional person, or donkey. Now there is a ridge, and again there is an electric tower, crossing the fields as we travel across the land. bursts of the green palm clusters, or spiky desert plants, some trees around a home that has cars, empy shell of a brick house, a man with a donkey and bright orange buckets. Scarlet orange. Scrubby country, and the blur closer to the track. Oh look, sheep grazing, truck goes by on the road, cows or cattle grazing, long time on the train. The others sit behind their newspapers and rustle them from time to time. James looks out the window, his reading glasses on his forehead are reflecting the passing countryside in the sun. Houses are pink, cream, peach, white. There are some yellow cream houses, all square, blocks, cubes. One cinderbrick home with a plastic roof, a tent with brick sides, I guess. Yucca, long place covered in a green arch roof, cactus forms a fence. Scrubby trees, a little hardbranchy forest.

Now we go to other country. There are patties with squares of water in them. a large area of mud and water, why? Is it a purifier, or what? Strange and lunar, werid place for water to be.

In a dark tunnel, flashes of red or white in my mind but not in reality.

I want to also write the readout of my mind as I type here but find that I’m only going over what it is I see as we are travelling. The minds of the others on the train distract me, the view of the world outside my window distracts me, the vision of the tall poles with electric tops distracts me. I wonder what are they? why are they here? what does it mean? Very high tech - a jet streams across the sky, tailing. What are these chem trails and what do they mean to us? I don’t know if I should be afraid of them. Probably not. Others worry about stuff but I don’t. A cart is coming along with stuff for sale — do we want it? I’ll ask James. (This is the first ever mental readout when I am writing and looking out the window and with others in the space. I find that the writing may not be that good, but I’m recording thoughts, or actually perceptions, what I see sharpens when I write it and I am like a camera, seeing things differently as a result. I am a witness, my mind narrates what I see. )

The animals in twos as if talking in a Gary Larsen cartoon. The gooey brown water — the water is clear but not deep so the mud is what looks gooey. Now so much land has gone past me since I saw and decoded that gooey river. Pampas grass and vegetation of all kinds, a fence of barbed wire, a bird on one of the posts, like the top of the pampas grass. Mist on the land, blue sky and white cloud wisps. Tractor is old and once was turquoise blue, very ugly electric arrangement and train switch area. Piles and mounds of black rocks — old coal? Clusters of insects hovering in the sun. maybe 100 or more making an oval or sphere in the air, just hanging in the air — it was a train stop.

We are gaining speed again, Gare Issallah, s, R, a car on the road, a man in black and a man in white walk together on this road. Chickens. Awoman in purple with white hijab. Now we go faster, tall pampas grass blurs right at the window of the train, I call it pampas grass but don’t know what it is. A blur of green and yellow, lines of greens and yellows. Awell, a horse, two friends, an overpass. Trees. Cows are lying in the field, laundry is hung out, a moment of lush forest, brief. And Iam waiting for something. Yellow tractors, and they have made a square on the earth. Red and white pylons. Cattle, green streaks, a tree on the hillcrest beside a house, white of course. I can’t describe all the different trees, different bushes, those tall trees that have pointy tops, are they a kind of cedar? Others that look uniformly planted. The bare field that could be agricultural because it is so perfectly empty. It goes by too fast to record or repeat. Maybe I’ll stop the recording for a time and rest. Another rural set of buildings, I don’t want to look outside anymore. I’ll close this for now.