moving forward

riding the train, i speak to a woman about two workers who are dropped at a work station in the middle of our journey. light snow is swirling its way to the ground, building upon deep snow drifts through which the workers must wade to reach the station. the woman, with a soft southern drawl—and inexplicably headed west, toward her home—offers opinions and tidbits of trivia and knowledge that ostensibly help us understand this vehicle, the romance of which seems to be lost in our modern culture. "in the 1800's, it was common for trains to stop along their routes to pick up passengers. some were workers, but others...well, if the trains saw people standing there, needing to get on, they would stop. it was the only way for some people to travel."

strangers on this trip are eager to give their two cents. it's as if we are removed from the world of post 9/11 behavior, where people are frightened of foreigners, of the public, of each other. there was no security screening before hopping on board, 5 minutes prior the train's departure. earlier, when my dad asked what time i was arriving at the station, i told him i didn't need to allow more than 15 minutes. despite my misgivings about public travel, there may be respite in this form.


the winter landscape passes by slowly. i want the train to move faster—not because I'm in a hurry, but because i want the thrill of a speeding vessel on slick tracks, careening precariously over rocky edges, weaving in and out of small tunnels.

"a bald eagle! a bald eagle right there on the river!" remarks the husband "those things are kinda rare. you don't see much of them." beyond the river and the bald eagle, a lone house, no larger than a single room and a kitchen, stands amid a freshly fallen valley of snow, a large, cold quilt of pristine beauty. from my view in the lounge car—wide windows that frame my vision—the frost and tiny silvery pillows lay silently, untouched on the boughs of the spruces.

"it's a long ride" husband says. "it's much slower coming up this way than it is going back down towards the river." the words are uttered, meant to be forgotten, and i know he doesn't mind. now, neither do i. we are a culture of fast: get-it-done-and-on-to-the-next. hurry up to wait. this ride is a reminder of the peace that comes from contentment, enjoying the journey and not just the destination.

the stranger, the husband, their two little girls, sit perched on their swivel chairs, eyesight bounding across the imposing landscape, as our train follows the tumbling, icy river towards our next stop. as if to remind us that we are, indeed, still moving towards the end of a new decade, one of the little girls remarks, "it's just like in 'brokeback mountain!'" not quite i think to myself, a smile forming on my lips but. . . not so far off, either.