The blaring of the engine and roaring of the horn instills the peace I need to get through each day. Every hour a different clamor rattles the foundation of the place I call home; a unique vessel on its way to a destination with its own precious cargo on board. And I think to myself: this is me, going in one direction and then the next, my chortle echoing throughout the silent night.
Does a train ever have a destination? I want to say so, but I fear not--endlessly it will travel the tracks with new arrivals and new package. To what then is this destination? These things and folk are but mere cattle to a Conductor; he herds them like his own daily bread and does not mind. But what then of the Conductor, his destination--the train - his vessel.
And what then of my journey's end? If I am to live on the tracks I will cease to exist with a conclusion, yet my demeanor will match that of the Conductor - herding my mind's eye in the direction it will along lonely and darkened rails.
So I listen each night, about my business, awaiting the deafening peace that will ensue as the desk softly shakes and I am taken to a new place--my destination.
