futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Like a church just after the voices of the choir stop.
Last night as I crossed the bridge I heard the bells of the cross-signal for the train tracks ringing. I looked over the edge as the arms fell, flashing red. I waited. I knew what was coming. From behind me the whistle shouted out. Screaming to the city of its approach! There was a rumble rising up through my legs and, all at once, the smoky, diesel beast burst from the stone-walled tunnel and ran under the bridge. And the sound of the cars bumping and grating the rails went on forever as I watched it snake slow below me, hugging the ground around the bend, disappearing into the forest. And then it was still and quiet again. Like a church just after the voices of the choir stop. If all things that move, by some miracle, are possessed with souls I hope that my little spirit will awake some day in the body of a train or an aeroplane made of steel or aluminium: cutting through air, or riding entrenched on a steel crest over the earth. 18:14:15 - 2001-02-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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