Thanksgiving

morning train ride to the city south of us. boy toddled up and down our car, smiling at every person on it, receiving smiles and conversation in exchange. at long last, napped in my arms, the rising sun flickering through the trees onto his face, the side of his hand.

so much of the journey was through wild land. quiet streams winding through the woods, bare branches webbing the sky. water lying still, frozen in its place, holding the sun's light on the earth.

we traveled behind the factories, the ugly places: laundromats, self-storage, their dumpsters and heating vents. occasionally, a glimpse of the wealthy - a house on a hill above the tracks, a row of neat victorians a few blocks away.

so few people out, towns nearly vacant, roads empty. one lonely car at the railroad crossing waiting for us to pass. storefronts all closed and quiet. just the rattle of the train on its tracks, the conductor's jarring announcements of stations, the passing trees.