Father worked the rails. Free
passage was our rite. Hours
rocking back and forth to the
constant rhythm of the train.
Foreheads pressed to cool
fuliginous windows, scenery
streaming by at a giddying pace.
Large cities, small towns,
virescent farm land, all ablur.
The somnolent clickety-clack
of wheels motoring onward.
Miles of track laid north to
south, east to west. Once the
lifeblood of transportation.
Memories, hard and soft now
collide, as once great escapades
also blur in my aging mind. One
more ride, yes one more ride,
and I shall soon be home.
Photo Credit: Leonard J Matthews Flickr via Compfight cc
