I grew up in a small town in Wisconsin. We lived near the railroad tracks. As I walk through my childhood memories, they are peaceful and sweet. I can remember lying in my bed at night, drifting off to sleep and hearing the train approaching. The train whistle faint at first, then becoming louder. The sound of the wheels rolling across the tracks. And the sound of the whistle dimming as the train continued on. My childhood was filled with other sounds too. Crickets in the evening. Bat wings at dusk. Excited screams erupting from the night when someone was caught playing hide and seek. The sound of my mom's voice calling us in for dinner. The sound of my cat purring at my feet when I was safety tucked into bed. The sound of rain pouring down on our roof as the water rushed on and down through the gutters. And always, the sound of the train. A train on it's way to another little town.
I still love the sound of a train whistle. And happily, I still live near some train tracks. And sometimes, late at night, when I close my eyes, I can still be that little midwest girl. Safely tucked in her bed.
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