When I’m drifting softly to sleep
I often hear a faint sound from
across the valley, the whistle from
a passing train, mysterious and lonely.
In my mind’s eye I can see its shadow
plunging into the darkness..
Only the wind left in its wake.
It takes part of my heart on its journey.
A lonely child played on the tracks
Arms outstretched, balancing.. bowing.
The old station..castle, fortress, friend.
Dreams of far away places and adventures..
In passing, a hand raised in greeting..a gift
to savor when twilight called me home.
Now, when I hear the glorious whistle
I pause to remember, in a way to grieve
the past.. and in perhaps, on occasion, the present.
The train rumbled on…..into the night.
written in 09