It seems that for much of our trip, our road has been parallel with railroad tracks. I love a good train, which is a predilection passed to me from my dad. When I was a kid, we lived in Wisconsin. (another piece of the puzzle, cyber-stalkers, or a clever red herring? I'll not tell!!) One of the neighbor kids told me that the city was divided by the tracks, and that we were the last neighborhood on the good side of town. I don't know if this was true, but I remember the train; the sound of in cutting through the wind of a long cold winter; the rumble and hum of the tracks when the locomotive was comin' round the mountain; the wild turkey in the woods who lived by the route; how the track ran by the dump where we created new identities from the driver's licences that were ditched there; and how the train went right by Hubbard Park, where we played orphan and where people got married. I knew the tracks went way beyond there, too, into the rest of the world, and far, far away, to Alaska and Portugal and Fiji. Later, when I went off to college, and felt like I was sleeping under strange, strange skies, the sound of the train blowing by calmed me. Trains lead to adventure and the unknown, but they also have permanance and a sort of integrity. It's nice to know that the trains still run, and that the whistle still blows. I waved at every conductor I saw.
AE: I hope you liked these! I'll look for more as I go!
BONUS
View from the rearview for Big Poppa
View from the laundromat. When this is what you see when you are folding underwear, you know your life is pretty darn sweet!
The elk are leaving the building!
2 comments:
Your reflection on trains sparkled. I shutter to think how you got that rear view mirror pic from the drivers side. :)Rik
Upon further reflection on your rear view side mirror picture, i withdraw my shuttdder comment.
You're clearly on the passenger side - no if, ands or puns about it.
:)R
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