072/365 11/01/2025

After Momma died, the trains I could hear in the night—well, how I felt about them changed. Before, I could hear them out across the hills and pastures, and it made me hopeful. I thought about all the coal and grain and people riding across the land and I could think about those people and decide on where they were going and how they were going to be once they got there. I liked to think them going up to Chicago or out across the plains and mountains and all the way to California. But after—well, they just sounded mournful.