How I Met Gayle
Chasing the setting sun toward the west, the prairie glides past beneath my silver wing. The heat of the autumn day fades seamlessly to the chill of night. Farm buildings, small rural villages, a pickup truck on a dusty road, a combine harvesting corn in the lengthening autumn shadows, all are oblivious as I sail overhead. They fade behind me without protest as more blossom into view ahead.
Glancing down I see a silver twisting path of trains, stretching off to the far horizon. The steel rails glow bright orange in the reflected light of the setting sun. I follow them until a speeding Amtrak creeps slowly into view. It is half-filled with passengers, travelers, strangers, each anticipating a new day, a new place, and a new view.
Slowing, turning, I descend toward the fields, paralleling the silver rails. The lights in the coaches create halos around passenger?s faces. A woman leans against a window, long brown hair, gentle brown eyes; she reads a paperback novel to the rhythm of the clicking rails. It?s a tale about a man who travels, always travels, longing for a companion to share a view of the world that slides beneath him. He looks down on those around him, not because he feels superior in any way, but rather he just has a different point of view. She understands why he travels. She travels, too. She dreams of a different place, a fresh perspective, a new point of view.
She lowers the paperback to her lap, and thoughtfully glances out the window, seeking a different perspective. Initially she sees her own reflection in the window, and then shifts her focus to the shiny metal plane, silhouetted against the glowing western sky. She smiles. I pull alongside and return her smile. I reach out my hand to touch hers, and she is in the seat beside me. Pulling back on the stick we climb, up, away from the clutter of the surface, climbing into the soft, cool, creamy dark of the night.
A full moon peeks above the horizon beyond my left shoulder, climbing to take its place to watch over the night. We travel on, watching time go by. Together. Us. We. Sharing a new point of view.
FWIW, haven't written much lately, but this was inspired by a line from a recent epic post, note the plagiarized line, thanks, Vlad!
- Roger
Chasing the setting sun toward the west, the prairie glides past beneath my silver wing. The heat of the autumn day fades seamlessly to the chill of night. Farm buildings, small rural villages, a pickup truck on a dusty road, a combine harvesting corn in the lengthening autumn shadows, all are oblivious as I sail overhead. They fade behind me without protest as more blossom into view ahead.
Glancing down I see a silver twisting path of trains, stretching off to the far horizon. The steel rails glow bright orange in the reflected light of the setting sun. I follow them until a speeding Amtrak creeps slowly into view. It is half-filled with passengers, travelers, strangers, each anticipating a new day, a new place, and a new view.
Slowing, turning, I descend toward the fields, paralleling the silver rails. The lights in the coaches create halos around passenger?s faces. A woman leans against a window, long brown hair, gentle brown eyes; she reads a paperback novel to the rhythm of the clicking rails. It?s a tale about a man who travels, always travels, longing for a companion to share a view of the world that slides beneath him. He looks down on those around him, not because he feels superior in any way, but rather he just has a different point of view. She understands why he travels. She travels, too. She dreams of a different place, a fresh perspective, a new point of view.
She lowers the paperback to her lap, and thoughtfully glances out the window, seeking a different perspective. Initially she sees her own reflection in the window, and then shifts her focus to the shiny metal plane, silhouetted against the glowing western sky. She smiles. I pull alongside and return her smile. I reach out my hand to touch hers, and she is in the seat beside me. Pulling back on the stick we climb, up, away from the clutter of the surface, climbing into the soft, cool, creamy dark of the night.
A full moon peeks above the horizon beyond my left shoulder, climbing to take its place to watch over the night. We travel on, watching time go by. Together. Us. We. Sharing a new point of view.
FWIW, haven't written much lately, but this was inspired by a line from a recent epic post, note the plagiarized line, thanks, Vlad!
- Roger
