Murph, you're WAY more kind than I deserve.
I like that tree, which by it's size had obviously taken it's share of cinders from the steam engines of the Bloomsburg and Sullivan railroad. It had rained, which 'blackened' it's trunk, and the contrast between the yellow and the black is what drew me to snap the shutter.
But wordsmith? I love words, (and I'm known as the "Spelling Nazi" at work
), but I'm a poor supplicant compared to Tramp, and I have to tell you now, all my best stuff I've stolen shamelessly from him.
Murph, you're relatively new to the Jungle, which was born Thanksgiving eve in the year 2000, and has been running non-stop ever since, (albeit with new starts in the midst). Tramp has been offering his poetry here on a random basis ever since, and it's a shame you've missed it over the years, if you have an appreciation of how intriguingly and beautifully the Language can be crafted.
Here's a link to some of his stuff, if you click on the 'poetry index'...
http://www.artsforge.com/green/statement.htmlJewels, each and every one.
Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~
DISTANCE(by Tramp)
One memory haunts more than all others.
It lies in the mind like full moonlight:
Cool, silver, green,
Like a loam of longed-for love.
Through all these years it holds me,
Keeps me with its relentless purity.
"That which shall not be reft from thee,
That which can not be reft from thee."
At a young age I saw the American West
For the first time from a boxcar door.
Everything now much bigger than I knew,
But in my sudden smallness
Came a strength--
A willingness without fear.
And so there see me in the October night,
And so there see me in harsh chill wind,
The desert by moonlight (Spokane to Pasco),
Moon so bright to eclipse all stars,
Sky an immense ringing iced silence,
The flatcar boards under worn shoes,
Patched corduroys flagging thin legs,
The drumming of metal wheels and rail,
The occasional cry of wheels and rail,
The freight train flying like a lost angel,
A mad phantom fleeing youth's expectation.
But I am there, I am aboard,
Standing, huddled; silent, screaming.
God release me from this memory
So that I may just be average;
For then I knew I cared more
For beauty than for pain
And that there was no return.
Watch the signal lights,
Way out on the black arc
At the front of the train,
Watch the signal lights
Change from yellow to green to red.
These pure primaries against the monochrome
Of the desert night under that moon.
Ask me not to be a painter now,
Forbid what should be forbidden,
For it is unfair to feel so deeply.
That a life will be spent gaining inches
When this distance is read in miles.
You know that is no John Deere. 
