The tapping like the beat of a failing heart slows to a halt.
"Next Stop Westport!"
Jolting to a halt head dizzy from the shaking writing shaking stopping shaking breaking the silence along the tracks and then it's gone.
"Next Stop South Norwalk!"
Clicks and pops under feet. Giant trestles bend and give just a little under the weight.
"Next Stop Rowayton!"
New passengers every stop and old ones getting off. His accent different from the one before. A couple this time. Questions answers questions thoughts as the door between the cars opens with a sudden racket of the rails.
"Next Stop Darien!"
Financial chatter dinner talk reminiscing friendly walks internal dialogue drones on. The sun it draws closer to the water as lights come on in windows passing far and alarm bells ring when the doors shut closed.
"Next Stop Noroton Heights!"
Criss-crossing streets with headlights shining crossing under bridges below. Above the trees the daylight slows blowing clouds turning in for the night.
"Next Stop Stamford!"
Reflections in the windows bring scenes to life from both sides at once. Silhouettes dancing from right to left in the waning sky. The fading signs of graffiti look like dancing cave drawings in this light, dancing along our way to the city.
"Next Stop Greenwich!"
Incandescent lights light driveways overlooking train tracks, bridges, over passes under trestles.
"What time do we get into the city?"
Startled from my awakened slumber.
"Next Stop Harlem onto Grand Central"
Blinky lights flicker as strings render chords
Bridging the break from the 1st to the 4th
7ths and 9ths bring tension resolved
When released from the grasp of suspended tones
As the grit and gravel spread out before me
The fallen limbs befitted with moss
The northern breeze unsettled the branches
That formed the arbor under which I crossed
With bark lined walls befallen with debris
The turn up ahead towards the water’s edge
Could take the ground from under your feet
Turn grit to plank over the waterfall’s crest
The impervious rumble over rocks so smooth
Down the bank towards the weathered ‘stead
Through stitches of roots like saplings’ feet
Would cause a near tumble of foot over head
On a path full of grit and gravel I tread
Towards my own haven, evermore I’ve been led
It was the night before last
that I stepped into the kitchen
I'm thirsty I thought
and my mind I've got a stitch in
Racing for the fridge
at a pace no one's beatin'
fill my belly with ale
I should get something to eat then
Much to my chagrin
that's the last clang I'll hear now
The fridge is but dry
when it comes to the beer stow
What a fool lost his plunder
'cause his mind was but under
the foley once asunder
the vale the week's blunder
Fat tire's the choice
Not a bike but a brew
a delicious new belgium
styled ale to chew
Not chewy like most
but delicious to boast
or toast with a glass
in your hand to the host
I could keep on going
but the toffee's not done
toffee for banoffee
will be had 'til there's none
The fridge wins again in it's quest for glory
this silly old tale could be told as a story
at bedtime for children but not about ale
as little kids aren't ready for this little tale
I could see the skeletal shadow of the trees tonight
As the moon shone with an awesome air of light so bright.
Reflecting off the snow the dark hue shone through
Moving, swaying like waltzing crooked fingers urging you to come closer.
Drifts of snow shifted under the weight of the wind
While the light wanes and fades into black.
A pine bough lopped from the main branch
Dragged through the snow
Leaving green prickly bread crumbs
Almost begging for new life as a wreath.
Bedtime calls when the moon is at its summit
Drawing the covers up to your chin like the water to the shore.
Goodnight wolf moon.
Brian Theoret | Notes in the Sandbox
a collection of writing, reflection, inspiration...