OCR Text |
Show 94 I am waiting at the train stop and it's quiet. It's six AM, summer, and my hands taste like metal from climbing around the immobile train in preparation for jumping on the moving one that will be running on adjacent tracks. I'm not sure where I'm going. There is water the color of tea on the train tracks leftover from rain the night before. There are bullet-scarred old carts on the other side. I am nervous as I hear the train the first time. But I think about walking back to my apartment and quit wobbling. The train is barely moving at all by the time it gets to me. I'm almost disappointed by how easy it is to climb on such a lethargic train. But fear of the German shepherd focuses my attention, so I put all of my life and the rest of the world out of my mind except what is happening between me and the train. Then I'm waiting on a flat, empty car. Gradually, the tired shopping carts at the train station become generalized specks and then the whole thing is reduced to geometrical segments and lines and points. I look back and it is as though I've never been there. Nothing really to see when the train is moving except color and sky, and that is nice enough, though what I really like is the wind on my face. OK, train. I can live like this. Bring me quiet rhythms and speed. Let me feel the wind in my ears. |