Through sprinkles on the windshield, on a gray, cloudy, Tuesday morning, between Emporia and Newton, Kansas
the back half of a long, stretched out train wends its way west, pulling gray, brown, and rusted cars that might hold grain or might be empty
Long sections of rust-colored cars are hooked up to long sections of gray cars, which are hooked up to long sections of mixed cars of gray, rust, or brown
most stenciled with the letters BNSF on the sides; some having painted-out graffiti here and there; others showing off decorative patches of graffiti
The train vanishes into a long line of tall, green trees
A bit farther down the road, two hooked-up train engines pop out of the trees, hauling the thread of gray, rust, and brown cars
and I hear a long, loud blast—a sad, mournful, multi-horned sound, generating a whole range of emotions and longing within me.