Page 27 - Self Talk

The morning dew raced every which way down the train window like tears on a stubborn child’s cheeks. Outside, patches of ground fog hovered over passing fields of brown stubble, marking the end of another season. Except for a few lingering pin oaks, the leaves had piled up alongside the train tracks in blazing knee- deep color that only a hard frost could produce.
Each passing town offered up the same somber greeting, a cemetery of sturdy headstones standing like sentries, looking out for new arrivals. Here and there, a leftover flag from Memorial Day poked through the remnants of the season.
The lump in my throat throbbed with the monotonous click clack of the train tracks. Slouched alone in a
rear seat, I hugged my jacket, half hoping it would block