Sound through the vale

Whether in an afternoon, or lonely sounding through the night, our moaning wail from the train is usually evident to most of us in Black Mountain.

And most of us feel that it means we're home.  When I first moved here it would make me smile, thinking of commerce traveling along the rails still.

At times it makes me so sad, thinking of the coal coming out of the mountains going to feed the power plant which relies upon it, so everyone can use electricity.

  We think we're using a clean source of power.

Like the diesel engines pulling the train that warns of its coming at each cross road.  Long toot, two short ones.  I think.

How many times a day does it pass?  How many times going east?  How many times going west?  I have no idea.  But I hear the sound echo off the humid mountains.