wanderlust

there is something seemingly timeless and classically inspiring about walking down a set of train tracks. i feel as though i am part of a long history, some sort of North American pilgrimage or rite of passage.
i feel as though i am in a wandering communion with the Hemingways or Kerouacs, the Bob Dylans and Johnny Cashes.

the tracks i walk along run through the city – houses to my right, industrial lots on my left – but i am alone, away from any sign of human existence save the railroad itself. the grass stands as high as my waist and i imagine all around to be the untamed, wide open plains.
the city, the traffic are drowned out by the lonesome warble of the red-winged blackbird on a cattail stalk and the frantic flittering call of the killdeer scampering about the stones.
the only sign of the trains themselves are the rails worn silver and the occasional trail of spilled wheat or corn.
i am reminded of the city again when i see the pigeons gathered for an abundant meal.

along the tracks, i find it easier to think, easier to wonder, easier to get caught up in pondering life. but that’s all – simply realizing that there is life and i am in it.
and i sing out loud
to no one
except maybe
the ghost of Johnny Cash.