Its days are counted. It’s holding on, but knows that soon it will be taken away. It looks out of place now, unfit with the landscape. The old track it was guarding is covered with a fresh tarmac layer, as if somebody found it too ugly to be exposed any longer. Very soon, no one will remember that ever there was a railway here, guiding carriages from somewhere to somewhere. I never saw any train passing by, though. Grass had gradually covered the sleepers; the steel rails had become as corroded as corroded can be in this ever-humid climate. Yet the tracks had always been there, like a silent witness of a long-forgotten past. The grey, old village fool who will only be missed on the moment he’s no longer around. A lonely train crossing light, patiently waiting for the inevitable.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment