Almost Death, Almost a New Year.

The moodiness and the loneliness of a Connecticut fall day called to me from inside the bus. Once the parking brake was engaged, I hopped out, climbing past the railroad tracks ahead of me.
In doing so, I tripped and scuffed my very cool boots. I stopped for a moment to survey the landscape and to say, ‘dang it’ under my breath. And then ask God to forgive me for using such foul language.

The world was quiet and cold. My boot was marred and mad. I was sorry and hungry.
Elbow on hip and with my breath held, I lowered my camera lens and waited for the moment.

Dotting the elusive horizon, islands barely large enough to cradle vacation homes, stood alone and silent. I knew what they were thinking. I felt it too.
We were all alone, but together-wishing for a brighter sky, a happier waterfront, a greener surrounding, a day off from tour (that was mostly me…).

Suddenly, a buzzing surged through the rails, tickling my booted feet.
I wondered if there could there be earthquakes happening this far north. I asked the others as they spilled out of the bus behind me. They shrugged, then went back to texting and throwing rocks at each other.
Men.

But, these train tracks were not forgotten.
In fact, they were very much in use. I thankfully watched from a safe distance as a high speed train screamed past while I was in the middle of throwing rocks at Biceps. I was either extremely lucky or I had engaged a sixth sense I didn’t know I had. It’s like when cows lay down prior to a thunderstorm.
Or like when you buy another bottle of ketchup, already thinking you have a back-up at home, but buy it anyways because you are at the store and you’ll save a trip-only to discover that when you get home, you don’t have a back-up and are so thankful you bought the ketchup earlier.
Or something like that.