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Array
(
[sid] => 166639
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => waiting at the station
[time] => 2011-06-27 14:00:29
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The approaching single headlight flickers in the dusk then the monotonous resonance of the engine announces itself steadily louder, but no change of tone. Butterflies. I hope this is our train! I squeeze my mummy's hand. She's too busy thinking to acknowledge my concern she needs to get me over the step in one piece- along with her baggage. Plus she shares the same illogical concerns, Night time will soon announce itself. The headlight disappears behind the waistline of one of the few awaiting passengers I hope it's our train, I feel a yawn start in my throat my eyes feign to water, then I yawn, wide. My mummy looks down, smiles at me and I smile back. Remembering, I lean forward in eagerness to follow the approaching savior. We both look at the yellow dusty face of the slowly decelerating train Just above it's brow the backlit dusty display barely gleans the word “Preston”. My fantasies and fears are reset during my day dream. tiptoeing time over. I almost stumble forward. Mummy swings her arm back nominally in response and I right myself. She look down on me with mock irritation. I see through her, and we both smile. I laugh, and swing out the exhilaration as only small children do The engine gets louder, the train approaches- the clanking metallic force of the rails fights with the roaring engine for my attention. Both lose to the smell sight and warmth only diesel fumes can offer. Comforting, yet mildly toxic. A gentleman opens the door. Mummy lifts her bag in, then carries me in her arms I feel sleepy. The contrast of light ensures I comfortably fall. We will soon be home. I will always love my mummy. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 117 [topic] => 23 [informant] => poeticjestix [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => FamilyPoems )
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