Coming Home

    The soft chugging of a locomotive reaches the pilgrim. He sits atop his white horse, overlooking the prairie. As he shields his eyes from the noon sun, he can just make out the flickering line of black train cars moving across the horizon, leaving black smoke in its wake. He rolls his shoulders to work out the stiffness. He has been away for a long time - too long, Mariah will say - and he doesn't know what's going to be waiting for him. He hopes it will be his family. He hopes it will be the child he hasn't yet seen.