Thursday, 19 July 2012

The Little Train


Bare legs and wellington boots, Marram grass slicing my calves. Dark sand, rippling back with the tide. Shells, like tiny toe-nails, patterning the shore. And my grandmother, headscarf pinning flaxen perm in place, holding my hand as the Little Train whistles in the wind, smoke and coal and oil seeping through the salt.

This is my childhood: two weeks from every summer, a desolate beach, and a narrow-track railway, fueling my dreams with steam.




This post was inspired by Tara's Gallery theme Planes, Trains and Automobiles. To enter or to read more posts, please click here.

1 comment:

  1. Such evocative words! Shells like 'tiny toe nails' - love it!

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