One of the best things about walking is how it helps you notice things you might otherwise miss. The columns that hold up the arched entrance to the station are made of beautifully worn red bricks stacked in a semi-regular pattern. A few bricks here and there are a noticeably lighter color, replaced when the old ones wore away. You hear a sharp, bright bird song in the middle distance. Your eyes follow the branches of a few nearby trees into the canopy that reaches over the station. The trees' trunks have fused in places with the station's walls. The sound stops. It must've caught on that you were looking. You wander forward onto the platform while you crane to see through the holes in the ceiling into the foliage overhead. No one else is here. Finally, to the west, down the tracks a bit, you spy a blot of red perched deep in some brush. Must be a cardinal.