I went to a poetry workshop
once.
Taught by the ones who
pursue their demons - at grad school, for
The MFAs granted, so they can teach.

I shared a personal spiritual story -
A story that the instructor didn’t understand.
And I was left feeling sorry for the expert,
Who didn’t learn what the world is all about. 

The poor lost soul could not empathize
with my feelings, and could not understand. 
And, somehow,

I was wrong. 

Late Early Morning Walk

 Late early morning walk.  I am late this morning.  My early morning walk started at 9:30AM.  I walked from my house down the street to the railroad trestle.  The trestle goes across the local creek.  The salmon are about to start running and I wanted to see if there are any fish in the stream.  Three weeks ago my son and his girlfriend and I walked out there and saw what looked like a steelhead resting in a pool. (Upper right hand quadrant of this photo.)

 

 

The stream opens for fishing in the fall.  Oregon regulations are hard to decipher.  For me anyway.  Guided fishing trips are expensive.  Oh well.  I will do my research.  

But another reason I made this little trek this morning was to walk along the railroad tracks. 

On the trestle is marked the date 1910.  And as I was looking at it a train came by.  One of the ten or fifteen trains that come by our town each day.  Then I did the math.  112 years.  Let's say 10 trains a day. I'll say an average of 40 boxcars carrying anything from grain to lumber. 440 cars a day times 365 = 160,600 boxcars a year times 112 years = 17,987,200 boxcars.  That is a lot of boxcars.