A Different Feast

As the sun gazes warmly down
I look down the railbed;
A haze of moisture rises from the earth;
It's hot, and humid.
Making things a few thousand feet away faint and misty.
A freight-car on a siding is a misty, pinkish box.
The cattails sway beside me,
And I hear the train approaching in the distance,
It's horn sounds mournful.

And now the train is here and people are boarding.
I board last, and find a seat in an air-conditioned car,
And watch the ferns, rocks, forests and streams slide past my window,
The train gently rumbling along.

I'd much rather be out there,
With some silly kids,
Poking under rocks and spying on birds and bunnies,
Splashing in streams.
And getting bit by mosquitos.
Getting wet, sweaty, and muddy.

For me, that would be a feast.