Sunday, September 30, 2018

#273 / Sort Of Like A Poem

Green fields flash by. I see some cows. Woodlots and the river disappear behind. The train rocks. I look at the country. We are moving fast. 

Too fast. 

When the smokestacks and the dirty junk piles start showing in the window, I know this trip will be ending soon. I feel like I slept through most of it. 

But I am awake now. Maybe I should write down what I know. 

I am pretty sure I know some things.

Image Credit:
Found in my personal photos collection

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