I listen to train horns daily. Over time, they're just part of the background; the horn, and rumble of engine, something not allowed to distract.
When the weather is right, and the morning is very calm, the train horn reverberates; echoes returning after brief seconds and the lonesome sound almost leading to moments of melancholy. The sound is truly lonely and leads to sobering thoughts.
When I was about 15 years of age, my grandmother died one autumn. We returned to Oklahoma for the funeral, which was surreal and my first experience with the loss of a close family member.
The night after the funeral, before I fell asleep, I laid in bed, thinking of the day, and enjoying the chilly breeze that wafted through the window by my bed. I don't remember my thoughts, but I remember the haunting sound of a train horn off in the distance. I sat up for a moment, looked out the window, and examined the yard in the dim light. A chapter ended in my life. I knew I would probably never return to the house; and never did.
So, I listen to train horns, examine my thoughts, and relive moments in my life. It's a good thing and leads to moments of solace.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.