I love the sound of trains and lawnmowers.
I grew up 3 blocks away from the Santa Fe railway line and adored the blaring noise of the horn and the symphonic rhythm of steel against wheel. Reminds me of my Grandma Miriam and the mixed CDs she made for us, including Willie Nelson's City of New Orleans. There is a precious train station in Temple, Texas that I fell in love with 5 years ago, and it always made me nostalgic to think of all the families, businessmen, and workers that passed through those romantic archways. Train travel brings all sorts of humans together and carries them safely along in a cocoon of American progression. There is something inherently patriotic about traveling by train, and hearing the ripple of the horn through the stillness of the morning. Today, I woke up late to class, hastily threw on clothes, and gathered odds and ends into my backpack (including an empty pack of gum). I knew I was going to be at least 10 minutes tardy, so I leisurely drove to class. At the world's longest red light, I watched a Union Pacific train push forward in my rear view mirror. Cars speedily zip across the railroad tracks before the arms go down (and one of them ends up getting pulled over). I have never minded trains that stop up traffic. The train's destination takes much more priority than my own, or it would stop for me instead. This train, in particular, gave me such joy: the conductor's arm hung out the window. We forget that people are in those trains, don't we? And I sit on the fourth floor of the library, typing, listening to someone mow the lawn (eventually I would learn it was an Indian woman with a leaf-blower). Life is so beautiful.
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