I intentionally gave this image the look of a fading watercolor painting, a visual metaphor showing a passing time and means of getting from place-to-place. The colors and tones were selected to evoke a sense of not just the passage of time, but the dimming of a memory as well.
I hope it speaks or "whispers" to those who come upon it.
Riding on the City of New Orleans Illinois Central Monday morning rail Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail All along the southbound odyssey The train pulls out at Kankakee Rolls along past houses, farms and fields Passin' trains that have no names Freight yards full of old black men And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning America how are you? Don't you know me I'm your native son I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Dealin' cards games with the old men in the club car Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor And the sons of Pullman porters And the sons of engineers Ride their father's magic carpets made of steam Mothers with their babes asleep Are rockin' to the gentle beat And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good morning America how are you? Said don't you know me I'm your native son I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee Half way home, we'll be there by morning Through the Mississippi darkness Rolling down to the sea But all the towns and people seem To fade into a bad dream And the steel rails still ain't heard the news The conductor sings his songs again The passengers will please refrain This train's got the disappearing railroad blues
Good night, America, how are you? Said don't you know me I'm your native son I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
I remember when I was a kid (thousand years ago) there was a old wooden train station in a near by town. We'd stand on the platform and holler, ''she's comin' the big iron horse is comin'' screaming at the top of our lungs. She was magnificent, the most powerful thing on earth.
Very nice, it reminds of me of the suburb my brother lives in outside of Indianapolis, called Zionsville. Flying to BWI, then Amtrak to D.C. tomorrow, not sure there are many (any) picturesque train stations on that line.
There are a lot of iconic folk songs about trains, such as "Freight Train, Freight Train" sung by Elizabeth Cotton, Rock Island Line, sung by Ramblin' Jack Elliott, 500 Miles, etc.
When I was a little kid, spending the summer at my grandmother's cottage, there was line that ran from Toronto to Buffalo, and the track went by not too far away, and I can still recall the the steam train's lonely whistle in the night. Thanks for the reminder, A.Mac.
I intentionally gave this image the look of a fading watercolor painting, a visual metaphor showing a passing time and means of getting from place-to-place. The colors and tones were selected to evoke a sense of not just the passage of time, but the dimming of a memory as well.
I hope it speaks or "whispers" to those who come upon it.
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Don't you know me I'm your native son
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Penny a point ain't no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steam
Mothers with their babes asleep
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Said don't you know me I'm your native son
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Half way home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea
But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues
Said don't you know me I'm your native son
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done
I love trains and songs about trains.
I remember when I was a kid (thousand years ago) there was a old wooden train station in a near by town. We'd stand on the platform and holler, ''she's comin' the big iron horse is comin'' screaming at the top of our lungs. She was magnificent, the most powerful thing on earth.
Thanks for the reminder, Mac.
Wonderful shot Mac. I r....good choice!eally like the pastel
I r....good choice!eally like the pastelI r... .Good choice ! really like the pastel
Very nice, it reminds of me of the suburb my brother lives in outside of Indianapolis, called Zionsville. Flying to BWI, then Amtrak to D.C. tomorrow, not sure there are many (any) picturesque train stations on that line.
All aboard!
There are a lot of iconic folk songs about trains, such as "Freight Train, Freight Train" sung by Elizabeth Cotton, Rock Island Line, sung by Ramblin' Jack Elliott, 500 Miles, etc.
When I was a little kid, spending the summer at my grandmother's cottage, there was line that ran from Toronto to Buffalo, and the track went by not too far away, and I can still recall the the steam train's lonely whistle in the night. Thanks for the reminder, A.Mac.