Riding my bike home in the dark, i passed a large train depot near the Trinity River.
This long trail along the river, near the depot, is one of the wild places in the city. Wild dogs chase the squirrels there. Sometimes armadillos creep out onto the concrete. Sometimes, at night, you can see things moving in the corner of your eyes that shouldn’t be moving, at all.
Always at night, in the wilder places.
The train depot is a huge thing – they’re always huge things – with all these spare parts in piles and cranes in the skyline waiting to lift things too heavy for human hands.
Trains in long lines sleep there, waiting for morning.
And they sing there, too.
You can’t hear it unless you’re very quiet, and listen for the nightmusic, like what crickets would sing if they were the steel and the size of whales. The grinding gears and brakes and bits of steel sing a long, slow melody that sounds like sleep and dreams.
F#… up to G… down to D… up to A. Each note held a long time. Each note in order. Then out of order.
The lullabye of trains.
Abandon your cars, good people of the internet, and discover the world outside your own door, where wild things are, and the corners of the city blur with the cosmic.