A train is a Time Machine. 

That is if you ever rode one before. The windows flash images past your eyes, you struggle to grasp each one. If it’s far enough away, you might have time to reminisce. Reflect, even cry or smile. I took my first train ride to my grandfather’s funeral in Iowa. The conductor stopped the train at my Uncle’s home where Grandpa had lived. That’s about all I remember. My dad said he’d hopped a train. If only it were a Time Machine. If only I could go back and watch. Visit. See with adult eyes what I missed as a kid. I’d cry.