The cotton candy cloud of thought pulls us deeper, where the world feels softer, and lighter, and just as we drift to the other side, we’re met by that shiny black-hatted conductor. He’s polished, like the locomotive we board, and the mustache and white gloves are as crisp as the sound of that ticket tearing. It’s not just paper; it’s a tiny piece of this whimsical ride we’ll carry with us, a little memento tucked safely in our pockets. I’ll sit by the window, for now—but there’s no fuss. You can have it later if you’d like, I know decisions can feel heavy.
Then, with two sharp blows of the whistle, the world lurches forward, like waking up old bones from a long nap. The station fades into shadow, and I feel the soft pressure of your knee beneath my hand. Look there, just ahead—the tiniest edge of the sun pierces the horizon, cutting through the deep, swirling purples with streaks of pink. It’s as if we’ve tumbled into one of Cinderella’s sweetest dreams, all spun sugar skies and fairy tale mornings.
We wonder how we’ve ended up here, in this magical in-between. Life’s little riddles, a story already being written before we even stepped on the train. “We can’t know,” you remind me, as I tug at a curtain too heavy to lift. It’s true—the bend in the tracks ahead remains a mystery. The magician keeps his secrets close. All we can do is enjoy the ride, knowing that the trick, whatever it may be, will reveal itself in its own time.
Take care. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 