Free Write 1, Week 9

How do I say, “The train makes me feel alive,” without saying it? How do I describe the massive black hulk barreling ten feet from my gaping windows while I squirt Dawn on dirty wash rags? How do I repeat the pit-pat of rain, the bouncing drops on the railing, that I called ducks as a child? Or the gaping yards and fields of childhood, where the pit-pat ducks congregate in larger numbers than through city trees? How can I recall running from my grandmother’s single wide in Batman underwear, jumping on the board with a hole the size of a dime, making a geyser that knocks the pecan tree? Or the scolding I’d receive after, You’ll catch a cold!, as I scrub dirty tea mugs, cough, and stare through the rain at the train?