
There’s something melodic about watching the sun rise over a rural stillness broken only by the rhythms of steel wheels on tracks. Or so we tell ourselves.
In this case, being aboard a train at all owed more to politics than poetry.

There’s something melodic about watching the sun rise over a rural stillness broken only by the rhythms of steel wheels on tracks. Or so we tell ourselves.
In this case, being aboard a train at all owed more to politics than poetry.