Wednesday, August 5, 2009

The Train

The train moved slowly. Alongside it, in my car, I moved in the same direction. Parallel, but moving slightly faster than the train, I approached from behind. My progression up the length of it was a climb. My car on the road, and the train on the tracks, and the river, and the trees lining the road all went in the same direction. We were all lines. The river pretended to move, but ultimately went nowhere. The trees didn’t even pretend to move. Their numbers simply implied movement. The train moved, but had no choice. It moved on a track, and it pulled an enormous weight. It was a beast of burden. I, however, had a choice. I pulled a different sort of weight, but one no less heavy. I could drive along the river or I could not. I chose to move along the river. We each had purpose. The world fell off into oblivion behind us. There was no road behind, only road ahead. That road is all in one direction, the only direction, forward. It’s perfectly simple. We’re pulling all of that weight. We’re pulling slowly but with purpose. We’re pulling until we stop.

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