My dad was a railroad man.
Here he is at work in Prescott Arizona.
This picture of him appeared in
Hearing trains clickity clack down the tracks
train whistles blowing
was the sound-track of my early years.
The night my dad died I was on my way to the hospital
to see him,
and had to cross the RR tracks.
A train was coming.
It blew it's whistle really long and loud.
It was blowing longer and more mournful
than I have ever heard before.
It gave me cold chills.
it was for my dad.
The day my brother died
I heard another
long low train whistle
off in the distance
he was leaving us as well.