* The authors are part of the community of La Vanguardia readers
One can observe the passage of the seasons through the route that the train makes every Friday from Valencia to Teruel. In September, the days are long. When the train returns, the sun still remains in the sky and, as it approaches the city, one can begin to distinguish, first, the plowed fields, then the red mountains in the distance and, finally, the towers of the city center.
In October, the days are still long, the sun barely stays in the sky and, when the train approaches the city, it refuses to hide, as if it wanted to hold on just a little longer so that the passengers can see the fields. , the mountains and, in the distance, the towers of the city center.
Everything changes in November, when it gets dark long before the train reaches the city. You look out the window and look for the fields, the mountains and the towers, but you only see darkness, and only when you look up and see the streetlights in the distance do you realize that you have arrived.
Everything returns in March, when winter ends and the sun once again accompanies the train on its way to the city, and one once again sees the fields, mountains and towers upon arrival.
This is a moment of great beauty, because the sun once again illuminates the city and one, even with the memory of the recent darkness, feels relieved to see that he has arrived home. However, it is also a moment of confusion, because you recognize the illuminated landscape that you saw arriving months ago, and although you are greeted by the same fields, the same mountains and the same towers, something feels strange.
One is tempted to think that nothing has changed, that the months have not passed, and that one has never returned to the dark city. One is tempted to think that it is September again, that it has never stopped being September, that time has not passed and one does not carry any more memory or carry any more experience.
However, although one can try to ignore it, one cannot deny that the months have passed, that the sun has not always accompanied the train, that the city has received it in the dark. One cannot deny that time has passed, that it carries memory and drags experience and that, although the view is the same, the look is different.
It is strange, and often difficult, to reconcile the contradictory idea that the landscape remains unchanged, oblivious to the changed gaze, but, at the same time, when the gaze changes, everything has changed with it, and the landscape has also changed imperceptibly. , because memory and experience weigh on renewed eyes.
One can really observe the passage of the stations through the route that the train makes from Valencia to Teruel.
One can really feel the passage of time through the route that the train takes from Valencia to Teruel.
