The smoky whistle of a train winding through the valley,
each shrilling burst growing ever louder
as it approaches the crossings.

Birds greeting each other with sounds of mass confusion,
while every now and then a raven complains about the noise.

The curtain of traffic; humming; hypnotic; steady;
until it becomes unnoticeable,
blending into the very fabric of the approaching day.

Then my weary conscience gives notice to rays of light,
bouncing from wall to ceiling,
then back to wall and coming to rest
upon a mind too tired and groggy to comprehend.

I try to fight back, but the sensations overwhelm me,
and I awake to face another day.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul