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Old Smoky Number 9

Poet: Ken Jordan  (Story)
Story: Old Smoky Number 9
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: November/2012

There's a mystic breeze softly 
flowing down a  dirt road not 
far from where I live.  In a way, 
it's very spiritual to see the 
dust float up from the ground 
in anticipation of the old 
number 9 locomotive train 
passing through at high noon. 

It's a ritual, each Thursday 
around noon time, locals fetch 
a seat on a bench down near 
the park to watch the train that 
they call Old Smokey Number 
9, huff and puff its way through 
the heart of Whistle Town.

I haven't found anything more 
blissful than watching families, 
friends, and visitors show there 
affection to a coal burning 
marvel, still running from a by-
gone era.

Here she comes bellowing two 
thick black smoke balls from its 
stacks, as she belts out two 
long whistles, and one short 
whistle sound.  It's the moment 
everyone has been waiting on, 
the once a week approach of 
old iron wheels, and the proud 
engineer waving to the 
gathered crowd. 

Within seconds though, Old 
Number 9 has passed by and 
gone, marking the end of 
another Thursday, of on lookers 
watching a little piece of 
heaven rumble  pass the 
Parrish Square.

I will never leave Whistle Town, 
there is something special 
about the people here, and all 
that this town has to offer.  
Once a skeptic of the mystic 
breeze, and the spiritual dust 
that floats up from the dirt 
road.

Now I am humbled by it, i 
understand what the train 
represents, a time when life 
was simple, and everything in 
life was done at a slow pace.

In so many ways, Whistle 
Town, hasn't changed, 
especially each Thursday, at 
high noon when old timers 
gather to greet a friend from 
the past, Old Smokey Number 
9.

These priceless moments will 
last a life time, and I'll be here 
to enjoy every precious second 
in time,
I live in Whistle Town.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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