A warm yellow light from the sun sparkles through the oak trees lining the edges of the train tracks. Small towns pass by in a barely identifiable blur, behind them the sea ever-present and sparkling in the late afternoon. Each town is different but feels quite the same. They’re all a collection of boxy colonial two-story houses and smushed and flat Cape Cods. From time to time we pass a true harbor and see the occasional boat carefully maneuvering in and out. We’re never in one place long enough to know what happens – all we get is a quick peek of the action before the Acela whisks us onward.