This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.

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All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.
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There is no deadline on posting,
you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.
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Write and you are a writer.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Train

Photo by Dan Felstead
Wood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
ETSY Shop: Wood andPixels - http://www.woodandpixels.etsy.com/
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Suggested Prompt...
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Include a train in your writing today.



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clickety-clack
clickety-clack

This photo reminds me of the story I was told by my husband; whose father drove the train here in our town for years and years.

Before we were married, we would take long drives admiring nature and the wondrous world around us. One day, we came upon a body of water where there remained half of a railroad bridge. Ray told me that his father broke that bridge....

Apparently, there was a day when his father, driving the train, came to a horrendous stop. The bridge collapsed before them.

The train was not a carrier of passengers, but did carry the workers to each destination. I don't recall whether anyone was hurt or not but I do know my feeling as I looked at that half bridge remaining.

I have this feeling of knee-knocking fear when standing upon a bridge such as this. I can't imagine how his father must have felt that day, or each day there after as he approached these bodies of water on a bridge.

~ Simply Heather




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8 comments:

Simply Heather said...

clickety-clack
clickety-clack

This photo reminds me of the story I was told by my husband; whose father drove the train here in our town for years and years.

Before we were married, we would take long drives admiring nature and the wondrous world around us. One day, we came upon a body of water where there remained half of a railroad bridge. Ray told me that his father broke that bridge....

Apparently, there was a day when his father, driving the train, came to a horrendous stop. The bridge collapsed before them.

The train was not a carrier of passengers, but did carry the workers to each destination. I don't recall whether anyone was hurt or not but I do know my feeling as I looked at that half bridge remaining.

I have this feeling of knee-knocking fear when standing upon a bridge such as this. I can't imagine how his father must have felt that day, or each day there after as he approached these bodies of water on a bridge.

btw- Dan...very nice photo :o)

Dan Felstead said...

Laura Jayne,
Thank you so much for posting my photo. I am always honored when you use one of my photographs. It is such a treat to see the different interpretations.

Heather...that is one of those stories that is so good to share with the younger generations as they shared with you. It makes your family history come alive.

Dan

I.N.Kwell said...

Tomas watched his son lean close to the setup, admiring their hard work from the past few months. They had painted the train, built the bridge, and found just the right picture to use as the background. Now his some turned turned toward him, "Dad, "he said, "How do trains work?"

Chercheur de bonheur said...

"On track". Usually a positive comment about heading undeviatingly toward a chosen goal.

I would prefer, however, to be a boat under the bridge than the train upon it. Hopefully reaching the chosen destination but with some inevitable drift and correction, perhaps some deliberate digression.

Michael Saiz said...

Teenage boys we were
On a band trip in the big city
Eating lunch at a diner
We were immaturity

Mini Jukebox at the table
Roseann Cash selection 11A
We laugh and dig for a quarter
"My Baby Thinks He's A Train"

Kelly said...

I love trains. The underground ones. The ones I remember from a short life in Budapest. Waiting on the platform, feeling the wind that was being pushed ahead; announcing the coming of the royal blue can that would transport me from one side of the city to the other. Nowadays, whenever I get a whiff of what some may call a putrid subway smell, I relax and am transported. Only this time it's across the ocean.

CJ said...

My submission for this writing prompt is a fictitious short story "The Wrong Side of the Tracks" and can be found here:

http://proartz.blogspot.com/2009/02/wrong-side-of-tracks.html

Simply Heather said...

Once again, an honor...thank you :o).