The Old Tracks

In my town and only 90 feet from my house run a pair of old tracks, railroad tracks older than my house, even older than me, and I am become old, very, very old, like a tree whose branches betray it with every strong gust of wind as they fall to the ground, leaving less and less of the old tree.... I used to walk in between those carefully laid iron rails, stepping lightly on the worn wood of the old ties as though they were made of glass.... I walked the length of my small town, I walked the world: I walked where passenger trains carried vibrant lives and their once warm, now cooling dreams, and I felt part of each life, now gone to ether and mist-- so too shall my lonely soul ride those rails one bright day.... Still, a freight train comes by once or even twice a week, and I thrill to hear its wailing horn as it cries out for a forgotten glory, and the ground shakes a bit as the old train lumbers slowly by my house and I wait a holy wait for the music of its rumbling and the cry of its old heart as a young engineer pulls the whistle and sees not that he is driving Eternity. [n/a in Brian's 'Completely your choice, #6 contest, judged 9/9/20]