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.