There were two of them that summer.
I heard about them later, through friends-of-friends.
A couple of kids wanting to get across the bridge and using the tracks rather than the highway.
The things with trains is that they need a long time and a lot of space to stop.
There’s a head of pressure that builds when you have a massive machine moving.
It’s got a set path, a known destination, and a specific time to get there.
The sights it passes are beautiful and there is a comforting heart beat to the sound of each evenly spaced track.
But there is no exploration, no side movement, and, when the way ahead becomes obstructed, no way to stop.
There is a value to certainty, in both life and writing.
But maybe our heads of steam should be tempered with the passing world around us and the awareness of a single moment of disruption.
Of a bridge on a hot, lazy day, concealed by a corner.
When I’m not staring down the tracks ahead, I have also written a fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.