There sat the old station, all boarded up, and looking very much like a thing of the past. It had changed a lot in five years. It had changed from a place of activity, of hasty farewells and hearty receptions, to a dingy old building that nobody noticed now. Someday soon someone would come along and tear it down for the wood in it, and thus would end one of the most significant and colorful epics that the little town of Richfield Springs had ever witnessed.
Slowly I walked up the old brick path that led to the ancient structure, and after a minute's hesitation, I sat down on the old bench that was rusting away on the weed-choked platform in front of the station. I recalled the days past when there had been two shining rails in place of the tall weeds before me, rails that had stretched as far as the eye could see. Beyond that lay the land of adventure and enchantment, the greener pastures that people were always looking for. Many were the times I had watched a train run down that track, growing smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared on the horizon, leaving only a puff of smoke. It had been a simple thing, and yet I had never tired of seeing it.
"An Era Was Past,"
Manuscripts: Vol. 10
, Article 15.
Available at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol10/iss2/15