The train decreased in speed as it took the gently turning corner. Sunlight filtered through the unwashed window and spread across the white page illuminating the words, allowing aging eyes to better see the script. As the train turned, the sun retreated leaving the book as it was before.
The scene made me think of watching a sporting event, namely a soccer match. Under a cloudless sky the unrelenting sun beams down on what appears to be an unblemished field of green. Unless the sun is directly overhead, shadows creep onto the pitch and if you're watching the event on television, the camera must adjust to the variant in lighting whenever action enters the darkened space.
But on the train, eyes--infinitely more advanced than any camera ever created by the hands of man--adjust automatically in nanoseconds, allowing the reader to continue learning more about a man called Ove without delay or interruption. It happens without fanfare and so quickly, it's almost unnoticeable.
With the book stowed I stepped down from the train and made my way to the car and, thereafter, home. Since sitting on a train this afternoon reminded me of a soccer game, I wonder if, when I next watch a soccer game and the players wander into a darkened space and the camera needs to adjust, will I be reminded of reading on a train? Probably, unless the game's really really good.
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