I love these railroad tracks in Cambridge. They make the journey look so darn interesting. Tracks just beckon you, don’t they? I’ve always wanted to walk the line just to see life from that vantage point and to find out just where they go.
The tracks by my house had gone unused for years, until last spring when I started hearing a low train whistle that I thought I dreamed each night. Turns out a train was running again and one of the stops was a flour delivery for a bakery in my neighborhood. I haven’t heard it all summer and I miss that little slice of country life. Maybe the trains don’t rumble by like they do out West. They’re more the commuter rail variety around these parts. Still, it makes me want to set out on a journey like a hobo, except without the satchel hanging from a twig—and without the train barreling down the bridge to scare the crap out of me like in The Goonies.