something about trains and utility poles
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19th of July, 2024 | 19.07.2024 | unavailable on medium
something about trains and utility poles.
there is something beautiful in utility poles. them standing out in the field, empty. reminiscent of something. carrying electricity to homes. you ride past a flock of cows. a few horses far away and the land is rising and there grows a hill in front of your window and it shadows the Sun.
there is something beautiful in feeling the gentle rumble of the train. rhythmic. melodic. i wonder what it would feel like to stand in that field. away from villages and towns and cities. seeing a train track and utility poles running into infinity. just like the track.
but they certainly arrive to some destination. though from here, from the ground, they may stretch into the unknown, you know that they end at some point. cut short, their wires running into a brick wall. the track stopping in nowhere. abandoned train carriages, broken poles, exposed wires. rotting wood and rusting metal. the heat in the air from all the rotting.
do you know where you are walking? now, standing in the steppe. alone except for the poles and the track. in the distance you hear the hum of the passing train. it is long gone, but you can still see it. in the distance stands a flock of cows. some horses. you walk towards them.
the horse is brown and sweaty. far away, but not too far. you are afraid to come close to them. the wind blows and you hear the blades of grass whisper. it is not cut here, away from any city or town or village. away from the blades of a lawnmower. it is free to grow. to live and be free. like these horses.
the ground beneath you rumbles and you look behind yourself. there is another train passing. you run for it, putting your arms up in the air and shouting. hoping that they will notice you. some passengers do. but the train does not stop. you come up to the tracks, the carriages swishing past you in a whirl of colours. you reach for it with your arm. your hand's shaking. and, as you try and grab onto something, the carriages end and you grab the air. the train continues on its way. into an unknown future, but it will come to a stop someday. any day now.
you have started walking now along the tracks, into the direction that the train has left. what's the point of standing in one place? you do not see the horses now, nor the cows. only the infinite steppe, the utility poles, and the tracks. you feel alone.
you would say, perhaps, as you walk, that money has become spiritual. people worship it. people give it some meaning, some essence. an energy, maybe? not everyone. but most people do. what's the point of money now? now that you are out here, alone, by yourself, away from any city, town or village. you reach into your pocket and scoop out a wrinkled bill. you look at it for a moment or two and then throw it away. the wind picks it up. you hope that it is not made out of plastic.
your thoughts overtake your mind. you think and see, but do not notice. it doesn't matter now for how long you have been walking. you reach a concrete platform and then a station. a blue sign with white letters. a small, white building. utility poles running all around now, into wooden houses and huts, wires jumping into street lamps. you hear mooing from the distance, the jingle of a cow bell. a shepherd with a stick in his hands. a flock of cows. what's the point of money now?
you wait for the train.
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