Autumn Train

It was the end of summer, the night brought a temporary break from the heat. The crickets chirped and the humidity of the day still lingered in the air. I always loved going for long walks around my old apartment building but in the summer, I delayed my walks till night.

 

            The city streets were empty in my part of the neighborhood. I lived in a historic district of the city, it was quiet, affordable and I was still close to the store if I needed anything. Behind my apartment were old train tracks and every night I would hear the train rush by and shook my apartment as it went. My apartment wouldn’t so much shake as gently rumble, it was more soothing than it sounds.

 

            I always loved trains and the sound of trains in the distance relaxed me, so on this particular night I left my usual walking route and headed for the train tracks. I wanted to see the train up close for some time and that night was a perfect night to finally see it in all of its fury and speed.

 

            I walked off the sidewalk and down a grassy hill, the warm summer air stuck to me like wet clothes. The closer I walked toward the train tracks the cooler the air became. Walking away from the concrete and tall buildings afforded me the chance to feel a cool breeze of a changing season. I knew I was silly to hope for Fall weather so soon, but that didn’t stop me from quietly wishing it to myself.

 

            I heard the train approaching in the distance but didn’t see it or the lights. I ran closer to the train tracks, running through wild grass that reached my shins, it was damp and scratchy. A chest high wooden fence stood between the tracks and me. Knowing I couldn’t go further without risking my life, I held onto the wooden fence posts and leaned my body forward in anticipation of seeing the train rush past me.

 

            I heard the sound of a trains horn and the sound of it barreling down the tracks but I couldn’t see anything. The sound grew closer and closer till finally it sounded like it was right in front of me. I saw a blinding light flash then an enormous train barreled passed me.  It was twice as big as any train I had ever seen, it barely fit on the tracks. It was made of black metal with orange stripes across the side, it had an old fashioned look to it, like it had been made a hundred years ago. There was one big light on the front and steam poured from the front of it. It dragged a long trail of cargo carts, all of them were wooden boxcars with green, orange or black paint and some weren’t pained at all.

 

            The rush of the train kicked up a cold breeze that blew through the field. The blast of cool air felt like a winter wind had blown through me. I shivered and stepped back. I convinced myself that the wind was from the train’s movement and the only reason it felt so cold was because I was used to the summer heat, but when I turned around I saw the grass around me was covered in frost.

 

            The frost quickly melted from the grass and as it did I turned back to the train just in time to see the last car and caboose fly by. Another winter wind was kicked up and blew through the field.

The train disappeared into the night and left no trace that it had ever been there. The only thing that remained was the cool air that pushed back the heat and the memories I would always have of the mysterious train from that night.

Thoughts over coffee

I’m soo tired, I smell coffee brewing in the kitchen and warm smells of spice. Soft sounding horn instruments play in the background. I stare off, lost in thought when my concentration is broken by a voice “excuse me sir, would you like a refill?” asks a waiter. I stare down at my cup of coffee and nod slightly. The waiter smiles and walks off to the kitchen.

            I’m sitting outside of a café watching the rain. The rain pelts the world around me as I sit dry and warm under an awning. The café is almost empty, it’s a rainy Monday afternoon. I sit with my coffee while everyone in the city is indoors, working or hiding from the rain.  Its been two years since I move to this town, I had to escape the world I used to know, I had to get away from the lying and backstabbing. Back home there were time when the backstabbing was literal.

            I flip through my wallet for singles to pay the waiter, certain actions run on autopilot and before I realize what I am doing, the waiter is already walking off with my money, then returns with change. I try to be more present and in the moment, getting lost in thought while handing a stranger some amount of money is not a good start for being ‘in the moment’. The waiter places my change down on the polished wooden table, a soft clinking noise is made as the metal hits the wood. I gently rub my thumb against the leather of my wallet that is still clutched in my hand before placing it back into my pocket.

            My mind has a habit of running off by itself. Racing thoughts and worries of the future distract me from the here and now. My therapist and my Mother-in-law have both told me to stay present. I wish staying present was just a light switch I could flick, but when your mind runs off, its hard to stop it.

            I often wonder if I could have changed the way things turned out, if I missed a chance here or there, if maybe I was more observant, maybe things could have turned out better. Thinking about the past too much is just as troublesome as worrying about the future, but the pain and sadness can get addicting. Sometimes its easier to dwell on the past than to deal with the problems in front of me. I have often thought about this. My grim joke to myself is “I’ll deal with it once its over and is a memory” I worry about problems already passed and often feel nostalgic for good times long gone.

            ‘be more present’ I tell myself, the thing about being more mindful and present is, if you have to try, you’ve already failed. Thinking and worrying about being or not being mindful is just as bad as worrying about anything else and defeats the purpose of being mindful. This doesn’t stop me from worrying about not being mindful enough.

            The rain slows down and the smooth jazz from the café dies with it. I wait several moments listening to the dying rain as a new song starts up from inside the café. I am presently being present. I should write a letter to my mother-in-law and tell her I managed it, maybe I’ll write a letter to my therapist too.