A Walk Along the Rails

A walk along the rails

The ribbons of iron blaze a trail atop their bed

The frost of the autumn night gives way to persistence of the sun

As I walk, exhalations of my breath shroud my head

A gentle reminder that winter fast approaches

My pace is brisk, aided by the spacing of the ties

My journey continues onward skirting the foothills of Buckingham Mountain

A breeze, a zephyr if you like, whispers in my ear tickling my lobes

The leaves of red and gold rustle then tumble to the rails

Encircling my head like a wreath, scents of the season tingle my nose

A chortle of chickadees, juncos, and sparrows echo the valley

Off in the distance, the steam whistle of Engine No. 40 pierces the air

New Hope & Ivyland Railroad’s finest is on schedule

The silence that follows is deafening, the world along the rails stops

The steady tremor of the earth beneath my feet alerts me, I step aside

The iron horse rumbles by, the churn of its rounded hooves is constant

Passengers greet me like an old friend, vigorously waving their hands

I reply in return with a wave of my arm as they disappear around the bend

The silence slowly wakens again, the shower of leaves continue again

I continue my journey, by myself once more

                                                                By James Betts