shh, baby, hear the train?

Last night I lay awake in bed listening to the nearby whistle of a train (likely the DART) thinking about what a beautiful sound it is. Romantic in a sense, because it evokes images of cross-country journeys through rugged terrain and stunning vistas. The idea of going back to a simpler time.

I am aware that trains, too, have caused their fair share of harm to both environment and indigeous peoples of America; that they, too, are a corporation and a method of explotation.

Still, a train whistle in the dark can conjure up some strong emotions for me. When I look back, the only place I've lived where I haven't been able to hear a train at night has been San Diego. In Madison, the sound would float in my open window over bird chatter and street noise on lazy days while I did my homework, or cuddled with my lover. I have faint memories of our house in Freeport, Illinois, being close to train tracks, and as a child imagining the places a train would take me.

Now I hear it here, in Texas, and I feel a little more comfortable, like it can't be so bad as all that if just I can hear a train now and again.

The other thing that makes me more comfortable about Texas is that I have found it. Dallas's version of Henry's, only much less rustic and Old Poway, with more stainless steel and fancy store layout goodness. It's thousands of square feet of glorious organic produce and bulk cereal, preservative-free bread products, organic shampoo and toothpaste, cheeses from all over the world, the list goes on. Be still, my heart. And oh, it's just around the corner (kind of).

Let's just say it's the sexiest grocery store I've ever been in and I can't control the school girl giddiness that has enveloped my soul. wOOt.