On a deliciously bleak autumn afternoon, my wife and I walked down to the small rail-yard near the center of our town. It seems to me that there is no piece of modern machinery so readily romanticized as the train, and we spent several happy hours wandering across the tracks attempting to capture the icy sunlight as it glanced off the edges of the rusted and graffitied boxcars.
This apparent attempt to inspire, apropos of nothing, momentarily pulled me out of the pleasant melancholy of the rail-yard, and for whatever reason this image still makes me smile.