These are your words, your story, your doing, your meditation.
You wake and find yourself walking in the middle of an abandoned railroad track. Walking between the unused rails, hopping from creosoted covered tie to the next.
You look down at your feet and see a railroad spike, thinking it might be the lost golden spike.
You pick it up 100 year old rust flaking off of it. Your thumb feels the the roughness of the iron. You smell the iron and earthiness of the spike. Thoughts of another time flicker through your body.
You put the spike in the front pocket of your bib overalls and walk on.
No Moon, no stars, just blackness and the slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. Hidden eyes watch you with curiosity. What brings you here. We need to find out this is our birthright.
Completely dark except for the blinking stop light a down the track at where the country road crosses the track.
Up ahead you see a bench made of marble on the right side of the track.
You go to sit, to take a load off. A mist starts to form around you.
You close your eyes breathing in the cool air listening for the sounds of the night. There are none. It is absolutely quiet even the breeze has stopped. A second passes, you reach down to pull of the battered PF Flyers off your feet and give them a good massage.
You are enjoying this. A breath on your ear, neck hair stands, chill down the spin, the hand on your shoulder from something behind you.
You are frozen. Then hand holds your neck, what feel like long sharp finger nails puncture your neck, drawing blood. It stings. A rush of leathery wings sounding like dead husks of leaves. Then silence. The mist has become fog surrounding you.
You know now.
You've been marked.
This thought reminds me of an abandoned fair ground abutting a 200 year old graveyard that I played in. I would spend the day among the long departed playing hide and seek. There are long forgotten families buried together. Even the rock my great grandfather played on turned into a massive grave marker. Under a massive oaktree. My family are neighbors my father, mother and brother reside there. Moss growing on there stone. The bodies not present. Deposited in a pond that my dad bulldozed. There is no point in this other than thoughts of someone who is a lot closers to the next journey than you are. Enjoy the air. Hug the wee ones and howl at the moon when needed.
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