Time Tracks

I sat by the water illuminated by the morning light. Glancing across the ripples, a train was in sight. Engines with rail cars stood in wait, becoming timeless in thought. How the scene has cleared a vision, of many in another time and place. Tracks sturdy, reinforced of old, carried the stories of visions untold. For one hundred and fifty years, tracks set in a stationary form as time rolled over the timber.

    Looking back and seeing the fresh timber laid in a time close to 1858. Curious children approach, though not to close with eyes of wonder as a new form of transportation was unfolding. Workers hot and bare-chested, chanting and slamming the iron with each tie becoming secure. New railway workers coming far from home, continuing to connect what already is with what will be and their thoughts would blur. As the sound of iron echoes through the summer sky, each creates a vision of time when their work will take them to a land, where only the ocean is in sight when the last tie is completed. Dreaming of the new land with white sand and cities told of being grand. Air will smell so clear, leaving a tinge of salt in the mouth, as well as tears. Knowing the work is far from done, valleys and mountains, danger could come. For now, they will rest the dreams on the middle of the land, to cross the thresholds as they have since the journey began. I see today in 2008, the workers across time in 1858. As they rest under the trees, I can only wonder ~ do they see me? When they complete the history at task, did they return across the great track? I sit in a park as they sit in open field. I see manicured beauty; they still see so much work to be fulfilled. Are they any different then you and I, holding the hope of what they are told will not denied?

    In 2158 what will be seen, in this time and space of eternity. As I sit past, present, and future, what is the vision that is yet to be? The tracks are anew and have been raised across the water of a great lake. Manicured beauty of the park today, has given way to a new age. The children still play, coming across the water in new-fashioned ways. Crossing the ripples, squealing in delight as the train comes by, over the land and high in the sky. Yet within the air driven ride, a car still exists with riders inside. A new fresh paint on the virgin steel, rolling across a path built. Riders of 1858, returning to a place where they came one hot August day. My eyes take me into the car in which they ride, the beautiful seats and flowers that shine colors of the land in another time. I seen them from afar, yet there is no one in sight? I reach my hand out to the seats inside, out into the air on this dimensional ride. I hear a voice say, "You are seeing me ride," I respond with a resilient "Yes! I see you just fine," the car is then filled with the virgin riders. "Sit with us and tell us your name" all the riders then exclaimed. As we sat and talked I told of seeming them in a time of old, yet I said, "As you can see, time is only distant memories. I have watched you for 300 years, and the moon has not set once in that time. Three hundred years is but a moment of time, what was and what is now, both still clear.

    We ride into visions, as we choose to hold clear, seeing life in a blink or a cheer. The horn has now sounded the engines they roar, ready to move in this moment to a place of waiting. Life is a train ride open and clear, forever real, forever dear.

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