This afternoon I stopped on the bridge to make a quick sketch of the tracks that I pass each day on my way to work and back. My father-in-law stood on that same bridge as a child waiting for the steam trains to pass and envelop him in smoke. There’s still some kind of charm in those old machines, there’s one that passes close to our apartment each Sunday sounding the most beautiful whistle. All I was treated to on the bridge though were pungent diesel fumes.
In the foliage beside the tracks police with dogs searching for something.
101 Words – 010: This afternoon I stopped on the bridge to make a quick sketch of the tracks rdgr.me/u/1u37h62