At times I am a locomotive running full-tilt, pulling my load through new decisions on the line.
At other times I am a caboose, pushing the weight up the hill, with all that’s left of my will.
The engines always need fuel, they’re insatiable appetite gobbling down the tracks in my mind.
There’s always the sound of screaming wheels on the track, smoke in the sky, and brake dust billowing.
As each car passes by, I notice what each one carries, and the train is me.
The station stops are my chance to question the load, to strap one down, or cut one loose.
I hope for shorter stops, a better maintenance crew, and less need for repairs.
The track is community, the hive, the ant hill, and a shared meal.