And Just Like That

The rhythm from the tracks kicks up an afternoon din, the limping rattle-thump putter of an old propeller, and I’m out the door and up the road and into the open, trying to catch a glimpse of the three-car train over the trestle, the pong-pong-pong of crossing warnings, a swirl of racket like seagulls over a patch of churning ocean, startled-split by the burst of a whistle like a blowhole breaking the surface, one deep breath giving way to the slap and slink of a tail disappearing into a twist of eddy, and just like that the great thing is gone again.

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