The young lady sits before me surveying the activity of the combination train/bus stop. I absent-mindedly think she must be waiting for a train, or a bus. On her shoulder there is etched a flock of odd looking prehistoric birds, possibly pterodactyls. She slowly moves from the direct sun into the shade. There is a diamond embedded in one of her front teeth. She smiles with a sparkle. Her fluorescent pink sweats match her toenails and the fluffy scarf around her neck. On her ankle is a sizeable anklet fashioned with sparkling stones of unknown origin. I ask if she minds keeping an eye on my pack for a moment and go inside the building. I return with two ice cold ice tea and her appreciative smile radiates  and sparkles when I hand her one.

We strike up a short conversation, the kind of scratch the surface question and answer common between complete strangers. She admires my small pack sack and notices the Canadian flag dangling from a strap. I see in her smile that she admires my mode of travel but her eyes betray her confinement. The words on her chair are Ottobock B600. It is a sporty model and she looks comfortable and well adjusted in it. I’m sure it goes fast if she wants it to.  An elderly gentleman stops by and they begin a long conversation. I have no idea what they discuss for it is all in Swiss. He eyes me suspiciously.

I write as they carry on with their discussion. Buses come and go. A couple of trains stop and empty their cargo of eager Saturday morning shoppers. It is Switzerland and today there is a brass marching band competition in town.  A marching band disembarks from one of the trains in full regalia, starts up and marches away, playing selections of marching music. They stop a few blocks away and for about an hour I hear wisps of brass and drums echoing through the streets. The train from Arosa rumbles down the middle of the street and pulls into the station with the screech of warm brakes after its hour long downhill journey.

A teenage couple invade my space, completely oblivious, kissing and fondling each other with that innocent eagerness and hot passion that belongs only to the young, or the young at heart. The girl in the chair catches my eye with a grin and a wink. She leaves. I reach out to her outstretched hand and our eyes meet as she rolls away. All is right, she infers. The sun is shining.