Taking my son's forgotten lunch to school today, I found myself stopped at the local train.
The little town is cut in two by tracks.
When the train comes, there's no going around.
One must wait.
Some drivers get frustrated, some downright mad.
Me? I love the train.
It has such an old timey feel.
The rumbling, the metal scraping, the thunderous weight
all feels strangely soothing to me.
I love that it makes everyone stop.
For a minute, sometimes five, everyone is required to stop.
How that time is spent is purely choice.
Some may cuss and fume.
Others dance in their car and crank the tunes.
I people watch.
I study the art of graffiti.
I laugh at the amateurs.
I bask in the time spent at a stand still with my fellow drivers.
We are in it together.
This crazy trip called life.
Each traveler chose this road at this time
and ended up at this spot
for a moment
I acknowledge the other drivers with a nod, a smile.
I turn up my radio, tap my fingers, bob my head.
I snap pictures.
The train passes. The lights stop. The bar lifts.
Travelers back on their merry way.
Perhaps it will make someone late.
Perhaps the pause in time saves someone from a wreck that would have been.
Perhaps it allowed someone time to think, to cry, to rejoice.
Perhaps it sparked inspiration in others as it did in me.
There's just something about a train.