if those old tracks could talk.

As I sit here staring at the mocking, blinking cursor, I hear the train coming.  The whistles blow, getting louder and louder, making it easy to judge the distance the train is away from the city.  As the powerful push on the tracks makes its way closer, the walls of this old house start to shake.  We sit a short few blocks from the tracks that were laid years earlier than the foundation of this historic house we call home.  The tracks--one of the foundations of this city.  Some may find the shaking walls and boisterous whistle rather annoying.  I guess if you're not used to it, it may come as a shock when you hear the first whistle blow and the gradual vibrations become a noticeably obvious shaking.  Sometimes I don't even notice or pay much attention, but every once in awhile especially on a quiet, restless night, I think about how many days and nights that train comes through this town and how many days and nights I have felt the walls of my house bow down to its power--even in my childhood.  It is amazing to think how many times that train has come through this city so confidently and that it still does to this day.  A piece of true history.