rail joints 
's different.
It 'no use going theories to seek a thousand, two thousand connections and some hint of madness.
Cause something in there, that somehow moves and eventually makes you want to move, to do something, or simply savor the movement that goes far away.
Over stones mileage, speed limits, signals from the first category, more than anything. Besides the story itself if you will, over geographies, religions and the worlds that do not know each other to express themselves.
door away, so it was destined from birth to run shorter distances to make that man, its inventor and its inventor as fond of him as a father with a son, the first was too long.
parade in the cliffs of Cornwall, with the white smoke that rises to 130 km / h, or chanting the gentle rhythm of the mountains of Sila blows steam.
not stop even when it means the very nature seem to block the road, climbing with a limb in the most silent but with the same desire not to stop. Never.
Adjectives are lost on him. Negative adjectives and often willingly, but in the end the human nature has never even remotely a taste of gratitude. Look at the kids - and their sincerity - next to rail, look at the tracks vibrate when they hear that whistle and beast, slow or fast it is, and then Come to talk about their reaction.
The Railway formats family, human experience teaches that genetically passed down to admire the car that many years ago, the green hills of England, made a dream world. E 'story, and you can not do anything. And the 'Life in some ways, life is because it is one of the few places where you can learn something different.
The odor of the sleepers, the sound of the bell before the train or that of crushed stone in crossing the tracks, their glistening in the dark, the red light signal , the lanterns that light up the neon light air of a found anywhere else, the gentle sound of the fountain, remittances locomotives that seem to want you to tell when they had almost succumbed to the pressure, the water column by now resigned to their fate.
Then the train, which arrives silently fingering the seams firmly and producing that unmistakable sound. The show, with travelers who resume their lives after being rocked for a few minutes. The stationmaster looked almost pleased, happy to have been able to take yet another train on time, and that the driver, on time and, perhaps, aware that he brought with him not only a cargo of human lives, but also a load of stories . Small or large.
It 's a train, nothing more.
