Photo by: Madison Winbigler
The Road
By: Rachel Moore
I used to walk along the tracks when I wanted to think, or to be creative. The silence seemed to help my
thoughts process themselves, as the colors of the seasons cascaded around my feet. I sometimes spoke aloud,
just to hear a voice, and in hopes that someone else would hear me for once. Sometimes I said nothing and just
let my thoughts ramble around in my own suffocating silence.
When I would walk upon the tracks, I would dream for a better life. One where my thoughts could be heard,
and I wasn’t fearful of my own isolated life. Walking gave me the peace of mind that I wasn’t so distant with the
outside world, that in some way, if I could experience outside life, I was connected like everyone else.
Seasons were the hardest to brace when walking on the tracks. Winter was harsh and frigid as my breath was
in a foggy mask in front of my face. Summer was scorching on my skin as the rays swam down to the ground.
Spring, the flowers bloomed and gave the sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle to the air. Fall, my favorite season to walk along the tracks, gave beauty to the ground as it sprinkled leaves of different shades of red, orange,
green, and yellow around my feet.
I long to tell someone of the beauty that I see along the train tracks. But then I remember that no one will hear
me or my thoughts of the world, or even the beauty the tracks create. I dream someone will stumble upon the
tracks as I walk along it and believe in the beauty that I see. To have someone to hear my voice, and know that I
was here, would remind me that I wasn’t alone all along.