The Endless Tracks . . .
As a boy I spent my summer days, walking along the railroad tracks, searching for adventure. They took many forms and it always began by searching. Always it seemed to be lying in the crushed rock lining the timbers. Maybe it was the rails themselves or the trains that traveled on them.
Limping along I would bend for a shell or trilobite fossil, an arrow head or a loose spike. Inevitable adventure was found any day staring up at me. I just had to gaze at my feet and something would appear.
Maybe it was a pile of plastic pellets used in the bottling plant or gray coal used in its furnaces, or maybe it was sheets of cardboard of every conceivable size. Maybe it was an odd shaped iron piece, used for anything I could imagine.
As I stumbled along, I always found myself looking back. And still I always jumped at the blaring squeal of the iron elephant’s air horn and always the engineer was smiling and waving. And each time I dreamed that one day he would wave to me and stop and I would get on and travel the country side by train.
Dreams Are Yours To Share
Tags: Poetry writing Amtrak