An Abandoned Rural Station

A former place this, a patch where roots rattle, where stubble has a ferrous frizzle. A long-truncated railroad stop humming still with a faded reality. As dry voices on the wind, they return - the homesteaders and journeymen, the harnessed horses. Pants' cuffs carry kernels long planted elsewhere. Caps, coats, and carts Sweat, rustle and creak, an invisible locomotion of leaving and arrival. employed upon an iron labor. The tall dry weeds are talkative. Brown boots seem to shuffle as they wait here or idle. A hollow clock clacks, its innards now are a nest for ticking birds. Dandelions anticipate twirling flight under a corn fed sun. A mid-day heat thrums fragmented rails. The station seems almost ready to receive as if its bygone world had not forever disembarked.