Vintage Postcard of a Train Crossing a Bridge.
My day started out great because the train that runs past my apartment came through earlier than usual and I got to hear it rumble by and blow its whistle. It's one of those late-summer mornings where haze is floating just above the grass, and it all feels precious, because I know it won't last long.
My train only seems to travel north. Now, how can that be? It's one of those mysteries like billboards. You can clearly see a billboard has been changed, but how? Has anyone ever seen it happen? How can a train go only one direction?
I've always wanted to ride on a train. Perhaps it is the by-product of too many novels and movies, but it seems like a trip on a train would be the epitome of romance. It's certainly an experience I'd want to share. I have ridden on the trolley by Lake Harriet in Minneapolis, however. That's sort of like a train.
A couple of times when I was a little kid, my family piled into the old green station wagon and drove quite a ways to see derailed trains. In my small world, it felt like I was standing in the presence of something truly monumental. Then my old dad would lead us all in a few rounds of "I've Been Working on the Railroad" and "Someone's in the Kitchen with Dina." Maybe it's all the same song. I don't know.
I think the next time Jojo is in town, we'd better look up Jayvyn and take a another ride on the trolley. I can count on them enjoying the adventure as much as I do.
OR, maybe I should book a ride on the Minnesota Zephyr! Now we're talking.
