Tracks

I grew up walking railroad tracks. I took them on my way to school and I took them to see friends.


I balanced on the rails near graveyards and creeks and over trestles.


I held hands with childhood girlfriends, while the sound of stone under our feet broke the silence of youth.


I collected displaced railroad ties as if they were pelts from a hunt.


I carefully placed coins to be flattened and felt the vibration of the oncoming machine yet to be seen further down the line.


I hopped on the slow moving trains and rode them only short and safe distances. 


I craved the fearlessness of staying on longer. I imagined that the train went to places that I could not imagine.


I still love the tracks.


I enjoy the romance of my memory and the metaphor that they have become --that there are tracks you can follow and tracks that you leave behind so that others can follow you.


I still may hop a train and I may stay on just a little bit longer.

Comments

Popular Posts