About This Series

The transcendent universal compassion of trains being the main street of America reconciles me to a place in time when the rails flourished. The angels whispered the secrets of the night train speeding its way to darkness. I could attend to the gentle chugging of the Railroad, comforted that there was someone else awake in the middle of the night. Tick tick…tick tick… tick tick the soothing steel wheels sound off a smooth rhythm as I sit still in bed. The passing trains are like musicians singing me a song. The whistles fade into the distance as I close my eyes for sleep and for dreaming.


The angels whispered the secrets of the night train speeding its way to darkness.

Another beautiful night is put to rest as the noises from town awaken the day just before sunrise. Trains of coal come down from the mine and people begin to fill the street. The morning express passenger train glimmering in the sunlight of glory pulls into the station at the center of town on schedule. People are summoned to the scene as they gather to board the train to the city. The 7:00am whistle blows to signify the start of the work day at the local mine. Children play along the dirt of the oozing earth throughout town looking like a blissful epicure, albeit the fact that they are filthy and unruly.

There is something so powerful about stepping back in time onto a solid block of iron that carries us and rocks us through the hills and valleys of our country. Our proximity to the tracks served as a way of grounding my heart and connecting many beloved souls. The bell, chug and smoke are gone. The rumble that seems to last far into the night, the coupling of the cars as they make their way onto another train still give solace; as under the skin of modernity lies a skeleton of a railroad track.


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