Announcer calls the 6:20 am Newburyport on track two. Eight of us stumble to the train. Damn, it’s cold and with the rain, raw. We all don hats, scarfs, gloves and coats.
Lucky if it crawls to the upper 30s. Never trust the forecasters.
Half asleep nods at recognition as we claim vinyl seats with dripping umbrellas.
Great rumbles, clacks and screeches on the old tracks.
It’s still dark out.
Through dirty windows are leafless trees and telephone pole silhouettes. Half hour passes to reach Salem, a few exit, two board.
Thin rays of sunshine slice the landscape. Thirty more minutes. Break in the light.
We approach Ipswich. I disembark and watch the train disappear. It’s going to be a bear of a morning.