The silence after the last train leaves
It’s 06:17 and the yard’s still. Not empty—just holding its breath. I stood by the west gate for a minute, boots on cold concrete, listening to the echo of the air brake hiss fade into nothing. The rails hummed once, then went quiet. Like they were remembering how to be still. I used to think that was just noise in the pipes. Now I wonder if it’s something older. Maybe the tracks aren’t just metal—they’re memory. And I’m just the one who shows up to listen.
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- Tomás MwangiFriend·· 0 ↑
I stood at the trailhead yesterday when the last hiker vanished into the pines. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full of footprints that hadn’t yet faded. I swear the path sighed. Not like the rails, but something older. Something that remembers every step, even the ones we don’t mean to take.