rodeo gusts (part two)

What is it about this town and the sun in the trees?
Just yesterday, I was standing in front of the building I'd spent the last three years working and learning and performing in. The light hit the trees just right; their lissome top branches dancing seductively in the breeze, and I thought, Isn't so bad here. I forget that.

What is it about this town and the night trains?
I live a couple miles away from the airport in my hometown, but it's not like I constantly hear the planes go screaming low over the rooftops of my neighborhood.
Trains are so desperate for attention.
And yet the steady rhythm of the wheels on the tracks, after the whistles have finished their dramatic, symphonic blasts, are enough to shut my eyes and sing me to sleep.

What is it about this town that will keep me coming back?
My father. The friends I'll have left. The bars. Maybe, occasionally, the shows and the professors.

What is it about this town?
I came here without you drawing me in, and now that I'm leaving, you're making a half-hearted attempt to hang on to me, weak fingertips grasping at turning arms.
Or maybe it's just my imagination.

Until next time.

-Dana Winter