On The Write Path

Passing through Gunning

If love were a train, would it rumble and sway as it sought its way to destinations we seldom reach? This train bumbles past pasture of land-lice oblivious to us as we pick up our Devonshire Tea: hot scones and jam. a dollop of cream. Tummy full it would be easy to snooze, perhaps dream. An announcement jars us awake. It grumbles an apology—ten minutes late. But we're making up time. If love were only a dream would we be allowed to take it with us? In time would it become a landscape tumbling out of soft hills? On a soft day of mist, clouds and sun we're passing Gunning, heading south towards the Pole. If this train were like love—would we reach it?

         clack of rails
         black and white—
         magpies in flight

© Kåre Enga 11.april.2015.

Edited from a postcard sent to Gary McPike.