Photo by Dan FelsteadWood and Pixels Narratives - http://www.woodandpixels.blogspot.com/
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Suggested Prompt...
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clickety-clack
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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.
One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.
8 comments:
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)
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
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?"
"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.
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"
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.
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
Once again, an honor...thank you :o).
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