58060 east by rail ~

I stop for the night in a shabby hotel overlooking some train tracks, near the end of my journey east. Floating in through the open window, along with a night air still clinging to the smell of rain, are the sounds of the trains, coming and going, a song of rolling metal and churning gasses. The platform announcements call out, metallic and chiming from the mouth of the speakerhorn, their precise meaning drowned in swells of reverberation, which gather strength as they propagate outward. They seem to say, “Your journey is not over, not yet.”