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Sue Scholl
Poet
Magical or mundane, trains were once a necessity. A train ride to New York City, east and then south, with the Palisades on the right and the Hudson River on the left, is hypnotic for me. Watch a movie from the ’40s or ’50s to see the trains depicted, the bustle recreated.

Hearing a train whistle off in the distance on a dark night reminds me of being a kid, staying with my grandparents. It was always a familiar, comforting echo. Writing haiku for over 15 years has helped me to see things, to really observe what is going on around me. There are still trains everywhere, moving all the time. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear them around Syracuse, even at night.

Salt City Express—
the bright silver reflection
in an old man’s eyes

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