Photo Essay




"Where are you going?"

To the car, whatever car will get me there

Quietly past the inspector

Blind dust Sunday afternoon in Oklahoma City

Snow choked siding in North Worcester

Auto parts and Turbines

Refrigerators and Passengers

Steam still reigns

With elder and child

Brought out in summer

Draped in sooty white-gray clouds

Mournful whistle calls

One time chance to see, to ride

Head out the window, spray on your face

Wake up at 2am

4 engines abreast, pull one hundred cars through black rain

To the mountains and beyond

She breathes steadily next to you unaware of the rise and fall

Heave of the engines

Early rails of wood

Cut spikes hammered by the likes of

John Henry

Steel driven man

As children we dreamt

With Lionel

As adults we ease back on the throttle

Pull up the bed roll

Close and latch the caboose door

Our wheels are rusty, paint chipped a bit

But every car has a story to tell

Box, Oil, Pullman

Every hill, every station

"There is no way to success in Art, but to take off your coat, grind paint, and work like a digger on the Railroad, all day, every day."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

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