Someone took me here once. The late and tired light of an early evening resting under the green canopied curves of the winding road out there. Windows down in the truck, rolling with the ocean back and forth sway of the road, conversation rising and falling in short fugue like fragments, still a chill in the air, but the cab of the truck is warm. The only car in the small pull-off for parking. Wanting to just sit on the tailgate and watch the sun or earth or everything in our minds set, wanting to wait for the stars to shine brighter than the day.
Crossing the tracks and it seems like we have been here before, in some other configuration, walking along the rails, watching for the trains, but not with each other. Not with such a sense of separation haunting everything. Some moonlit night from another time. Rails like black spokes running from the center of the world's wheel to the blue outer edges of the Universe, the hem of the known world hanging like a curtain just there beyond, where the rails come together in a vanishing point, a place paradoxically in the memory and not yet.
On the other side, it is colder and I am alone, walking down pathways where I once had company. Every object is weighted and heavy with memory. Madrona trees rattle like skeletons in the wind. There is distant thunder. Perhaps a storm. Maybe a train. The sense of being out of time, out of place. Waterlogged with memory, driftwood upon the beach. Everything lost. Now turned back. The tide's persistent tugging of the world into Oblivion.
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