In Training…

July 8, 2010

I’m just heading east on a train to Montréal. I love watching the summer-green landscape sweep past my window and the tall stalks of grain as they sway in the breeze. The sound of the woooah-woah whistle moaning in the distance reminds me of growing up in a house not for from a set of tracks, in Winnipeg. I loved to hear the locomotive commotion half a block away. Big, steel wheels scraping and gliding past the back lane intersection, possibly flattening a coin we had laid on the rusty metal rails. The red lights flashing as the conductor smiled down towards me and my compadres, a group of gleefully squealing pre-teens waving frantically, urging him to pull the high up cord to sound off the whistle while the train whizzed through town to who knew where.

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