Three train trestles cross the Mississippi River heading west into Arkansas. There is awe in seeing man’s ingenuity cross nature’s wonder.
Railroad tracks always spur the imagination. Thoughts of wanderlust or adventure. Of romance or loneliness. Running toward or fleeing from?
Hear that lonesome whippoorwill?
He sounds too blue to fly.
The midnight train is whining low,
I’m so lonesome I could cry.
___Hank Williams