And so, as January becomes a month of waiting,
of waiting for the dog to feel better,
of waiting for the world’s illness to pass,
of waiting in a corner parking lot to make a left-hand turn,
I miss a different January wait,
the waiting in motion,
the waiting on an old-time train skirting Indiana snowdrifts.
It was a waiting of possibilities opening, then,
now, it’s a waiting to see what doesn’t close.
A difference in age,
a difference in station.
A long way from Indiana.
Nice!