trains & buses: leftover observations

19 Sep
  • Riding a train at night was like smoking an unlit cigarette. There seemed to be no progression; then a little light and you were almost there.
  • There was nothing like the dark trees while the noisy roads listened, while the streetlights outside paid no attention to the people rolling beneath them.
  • Every night we were in a dim detention, forced to stop, consider and think. We couldn’t move, not until a bell was rung.
  • The power plant sings energy and light into the dark. It is an oasis of lights in a black desert.
  • The bye-bye lights of carnivals play against my eyes as I rode home, the long way.
  • The road keeps us as we pilot our way to destinations beneath the exhausted sun. Brown and green grass ran rapid here, and corn built its way up to the sky.
  • We know these places. The places where dreams are buried into stumps of trees, like the dirt holding seeds
  • A truck tugs it’s miniature duplicate behind it, hitched together like nuptials.
  • The sun works the earth like a principal overlooking a playground –watchful and engaging, keeping time and energy.
  • Sometimes you can only take metaphors so far, before you have to lay them aside like road kill –and hope that others can make better uses of it.
  • It surprises me, constantly, that bus rides across Illinois can inspire me more than the words of Faulkner.
  • I feel that I’m the most animated on a quiet bus.
  • When I’m on the road, the future is right there. Experience is happening all the time without matter-of-fact action. We can stare at the bashful skies, irreverent grass and the gray paved roads, and know that that lanterns and lights, all by our side -the thousands of them, are there for us while we keep living.
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