I wait at the crossing as the train rolls through.
I’m in no hurry; I like the looks of its colors
blurring across the raindrop-splattered windshield
of my car, and its sound, all motion and determined.
A couple miles down the road, I pass the old barn,
once the heart of a dairy farm that served the whole county,
its stories still pouring out all its cracks and doors to say
how you should have seen it when it was in its glory.
Then come the fields and the view of sky, roiling now with clouds,
the neat rows of stubble beneath them waiting to be plowed under
in preparation for the new season’s crop. I can feel their impatience.
Soon, I say to them. Even now, the sun is breaking through. See?
