Seems you always hear them early in the morning or very late at night.
The sound slices through the still morning air like a spotlight cutting through fog -- clear, undeniable.
It makes me think of far-away places, exotic lands. It beckons me to follow.
The clickety-clack of steel wheels rolling across rails has a frequency to it, governed by some unseen engineer's hand firmly upon the throttle.
Trains must always run on time, always.
The pitch of the sounds soon recedes as the train races onward to its appointed destination.
At a nearby seaport, a ship and crew standby, waiting.
In some distant part of the world, they wait, too.
They all wait.
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