Journey by Train
by May Sarton
Stretched across counties, countries, the train
Rushes faster than memory through the rain.
The rise of each hill is a musical phrase.
Listen to the rhythm of space, how it lies,
How it rolls, how it reaches, what unwinding relays
Of wood and meadow where the red cows graze
Come back again and again to closed eyes—
That garden, that pink farm, that village steeple,
And here and there the solitary people
Who stand arrested when express trains pass,
That stillness of an orchard in deep grass.
Yet landscapes flow like this toward a place,
A point in time and memory's own face.
So when the clamor stops, we really climb
Down to the earth, closing the curve of time,
Meeting those we have left, to those we meet
Bringing our whole life that has moved so fast,
And now is gathered up and here at last,
To unroll like a ribbon at their feet.
HoneyedHaired Grrrl should be making her way back home tomorrow, air traffic controllers willing. Flight arrives at CVG at 2:45pm giving the airlines hours and hours of useful daylight time to delay flights and reroute before her father and I must be at work Monday morning.
And speaking of my young one...once you're discovered in North Dakota can fame and fortune be far behind?