Misty rainy afternoon. The noise around me slowly ceases, and ends in a low thud, followed by a hiss. The train stops. I get down on the opposite end, and two tracks stretch out on the side, deserted. Piercing rubies adorn the signal posts as far as the eye can see, except for one shining, pleasing emerald on the opposite end of the line.
And then the rumbling becomes more apparent. The thunder grows louder, and finally two screaming green WDG3As show up hauling a tanker rake, smoking for all their worth, in the cold. Smell of petroleum fills the air, and the clickety clacks with occasional strange clanging noises and thuds rebuke the silence. I stand right next to the gentleman who hauled us up till here, as he waits, occasionally hissing and idling up to keep himself warm. I cast it a look now and then, like a rider gives his steed.
The passing train rumbles away, and all that is left are the receding sharp clicks in the track, the engines beating far away.. and the world returns to the sound of the incessant drizzle, silently piercing the low, grey wisps of diesel smoke.
Drawing in the cold air, I'm tempted to have a smoke again, and I remind myself that this is precisely the reason I never allowed myself a first puff. The signal has turned to a sober amber and the loco sounds its wet horn. I haul myself back in and get some coffee. Blowing on my hands to keep dry, I resume my stand at the door while the train picks up pace and the din resumes. Green out the windows, out the door.. all around, and hopefully, shining ahead for the rest of the miles too.
This post marks the beginning of a new set of stuff called "Figments" on the blawg. Random, hot outta the mind pieces. Unedited, for most parts. Figments of imagination, figments of ahem.. poetry, scraps from some really engaging texting session, so on, if you get the drift, and so forth.