Riding on the Amtrak
It's a misty March morning juggling on the rails from MA to PA. The winter has not yet released its grip on the land, but it has given up holding us captive to low temperatures and snowstorms. It's 55 degrees outside. Green has not yet found life within the landscape. That is still to come. But, snow is no longer the star. The earth is brandishing brown highlights - the soft contours of mud can easily be seen on the edges of the rail pathways.
The sky is a good backdrop today: grey with no spot of blue on its face. Neutral with no hint of the changing winds.
In contrast, the sounds of the train hints at something grander - a change it is 'a comin' - it seems to scream this fact through each town it lumbers through. It's an old sound that echoes the history of the rails. It carries memories of dirt and hammers and chisles and wood. Rail songs and sweat and horse hooves and pain. It carries the screech of presidential rail trains and the applause of the towns people. It captures the hope of a better day.
Each generation carries a new story forward. The iron highway: it activates my memory banks with old and new memories - both here and in my faraway land of lederhosen and schnitzle where the rails have been my carpet ride to family and adventure.
It is a beautiful day. I'm living in the moments and visually inhaling the upcoming transition to Spring.
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