Walking the Rails

Down the hill there’s a track that curves out of sight
The rails silver hot in the afternoon light
I smell the soft scent of the milkweed’s flower
And the pond sparkles over the beaver’s bower

Sandals in hand, I feel the steel’s heat
Through my toes and soles of my bare feet
On the width of these rails and I can walk for hours
Creosote on the ties, oil on the flowers

With no one around, I walk looking down
Far from the noises and stress of the town
A very strange feeling creeps into my mind
As if a watcher was not far behind

Something much bigger hangs over my head
What if the train comes, will I be dead?
Feeling for sure that I’ve gone way too far
I turn and head back down the tracks to my car

The croaks of frogs fill the evening with sound
I was lost in the passing of ties on the ground
Keeping time with my heartbeat, one step at a time
Walking the rails can feel so sublime

©Diane E. Dockum, April 15, 2015