Woman Beside the Tracks, 11 May 2014
I take comfort in spending time by the train tracks that run along the southern boundary of the farm . . . in milder weather than is currently extant, it should go without saying. I cannot explain why, although the urge to go there seems most often to get its grip on me after I listen to the news on the radio, a thing that I am avoiding more and more as I–as one might laughingly put it–mature. Laxmi Singh and Corva Coleman seem more and more to me like voices from hell. Through no fault of their own, I hasten to add.
I am able at times to persuade someone else, in one of his or her moments of weaker judgment, to accompany me there. Sometimes I hike. More commonly, I drive the John Deere Gator, nothing more really than a gasoline powered golf cart. This all is clearly symptomatic of my stunted emotional development, my remnant, predominant, and relentless immaturity. Young boys of a certain bent have been idling away time next to train tracks ever since train tracks were invented.
There is a prior admission in this blog that I have indeed in the past placed coins on those tracks to be crushed by passing freight trains. We can rely upon at least two freight trains passing on any given day. So far none of those freights have been derailed by my coins. Should that occur in the future, I will immediately delete this and related blog entries.
Should you be in the neighborhood and feel the urge yourself, give me a call. I will be happy to ferry you down to the tracks with me. Be prepared to dawdle, however.