Early morning train ride

I got an early train today, and the sun had not long risen. The sky was pale and clear. The shadows from rows of trees marched like leggy giants across pristine frosted fields. A river coiled out across the fields like a smooth flat snake, and as we sped past, the water caught the reflection of the sun in such a way that it flashed along the twists like quicksilver.

Surreptitious superstitions

In the park today I saw a number of magpies, and caught myself trying to rationalise this into possible future events according to the rhyme. I try to avoid superstitions, but they are so insidious that I often indulge in them, especially counting magpies. This started a couple of years ago, when I noticed that I only ever saw single magpies. A lone magpie is supposed to represent sorrow, because they mate for life, and so a lonely one may have lost its partner.

The only time I remember seeing a pair of them is a week or two ago, on a day when I was happy. And the strange thing is that I can't quite remember whether there were genuinely just two or whether there were more around that I didn't notice at first glance, or chose to disregard: because I was joyful, my memory has filed that there were a pair.

I find it quite frightening that the human mind is so attuned to patterns that it can find associations where none exist. The kind of superstitions which involve touching wood or crossing fingers are relatively harmless, but it is scary that our minds are so easily manipulated. As a scientist, I try to sift out a grain or two of truth from drifts of meaningless noise, and to observe this superstitious streak in myself is a wake up call as to how easy it is to see what we want to see.