I am looking forward to a train ride soon — to take my oldest son off to college in Washington state. I imagine moving through the plains and mountains and watching so much pass by while sitting with my child now moving into adulthood. The train will give us time, even as we travel efficiently west. The train will hold us together a little longer slowing us down long enough to notice the sweetness of this rhythm of our lives, of our swirling together, apart, together again.

Riding the slow train to Lampang,

we passed through small

northern Thai towns, the

stations just wooden shacks,

signs flapping in the gust

created by our train coming

to a stop. These were the towns

where my grandfather must

have traveled, carrying his bolts

of cloth on the back of his bicycle.

I watched as people working

in fields and walking along dirt roads

looked up at us passing by. How

briefly our lives intersected, looking

back, moving forward, winding

around each other like the wind

blowing leaves in dancing spirals,

before resting lightly on the ground.