Dear Josephine,
I finally figured out where all the barns came from. They were scattered across the wide open countryside, grass fields and rolling hills, right up to the edge of the woods. Barns everywhere. One barn, then another; years, decades apart. Now I remember where they came from!
I have another story to tell you. And I will. In good time.
& last year there were all the waterways, rivers mostly. I get it, I think. Yet rivers are always moving and water is always fluid, even while ice skating. So where does it go?
& then came the high snow. The mountains. The train stations, one in particular I’ve yet to show you; maybe you’ve been, maybe you’ve seen; the one on the outskirts above the little town & just below treeline but close enough to the hemlocks so one may pick pinecones from the snow while waiting for a train. I found a good one for you. But what do they mean? The stations, especially that one built of mountain stone and grand, old-growth timber? What does it mean? I’m seeing it again. I’m seeing it again. The one with the mountain stone steps that somehow seem too big, too tall for these legs. I know, I know, it’s all up to me to find out. Oh Dear, do the rails ever end? If you ever find yourself there waiting, look for a mark carved on the back of the bench. I will leave one there. Please make note of the treeline before boarding.
& now the bridges all of the sudden. Are you seeing these bridges as well? They’ve been coming at me every day, every night, for well over a week. When I get out of bed today I can all but guarantee I will see the bridge I dreamt last night. I’ve been a ghost for far too long to say that they haunt me— they don’t— but I’ve been seeing the bridges long before I come to cross them; if crossing is what I am meant to do. My gut tells me to finish the bridge before the train leaves the station or else everything is going to get all Polar Express in a frozen hurry. I will go back to the station where I first warned them. To the station first; when the Moon is waning; where someone left a book on that stonewood bench; back to the shelter of the evergreens where I can dwe11 on the bridges and sketch. That’s where I’ll be, if you’re looking.
I can almost see them coming, can hear them, within range. They are ahead of the train, the one making its steam from a wood fire. Thank you, Josephine. I’m beginning to understand now. I imagine Earsy would want the book back in its place. Has he discovered yet that it’s gone missing? I’ve retrieved it once before, you know. Also saved it from a fire. Is it The Dragons’? What am I in for?
Yours,
In service to The Queen,
For the Time being,
The ticket remains unpunched,
-Ret
P.S.- & yes, of course, I will always save a seat. Always.
(We’re way ahead of the first train out so take your time. And if you’re last-minute late, don’t panic, I wi11 hold & see that the conductor don’t get ansty.)