But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “Crossing the Bar”
I walked the little beach many times in the five years I lived in Cape Charles. With the ebb and flow of the tide, tiny periwinkle snails bury themselves in the sand. Gulls hovering overhead cry in their piercing, lonely voices. Storms churn the Chesapeake Bay, stirring its hidden contents so that afterward, treasures can be found on the shore – sand dollars, whole and unharmed, prizes to a beachcomber. I collected many.
I was alone on the beach the day I saw the old train coming to the end of the line at the harbor. I’d never seen it come through – Cape Charles is a tiny railroad town that almost didn’t survive the loss of the industry.
Where’s that train going? I wondered. Has it gotten on the wrong track? There’s nowhere to go – nothing but the bay ahead of it. Will it turn around, somehow? Or back up?
Is it going over the edge, into the water?
The train kept rolling forward, slowing to a stop at last.
I relaxed.
And the train began to float away from the land, as if by magic, as if it were Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, sprouting a flotation device.
It’s on a barge!
I watched, marveling, as the train sailed out into the bay, a majestic, most rare sight. I imagined visiting fishermen looking up from their bait and tackle to gawk as the train drifted by their boats.
There was something poetic about it, both grand and poignant, filled with awe and tasting of sadness. The gulls cried; a salt-tinged breeze caressed my face. I watched as the train grew smaller and smaller on the bay, until I could see it no more, and turned again home.
lit bits and pieces 
Beaches always seem like magical places to me, but this experience really raises the bar! Your beautiful prose captured this moment so well. I love the combination of the words “grand and poignant” and you built atmosphere/mood with descriptive phrases like “Gulls hovering overhead cry in their piercing, lonely voices.” Well done!
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Thanks so much! I lived just two blocks from this little beach. I miss it. I so appreciate your specific & gracious feedback.
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That vision of the strange train on the horizon, finally emerging on a barge, was like a picture unfolding in my mind. Perfect!
Kevin
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Thanks so much, Kevin. It felt surreal, almost Twilight Zone-ish. Knowing that the train was on a barge didn’t make it any less fantastic! I so appreciate your words.
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What a special treat! Beaches are full of surprises. I love the idea of watching the train thinking, where will it go? Beautiful details!
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Thank you! You’re so right, beaches are full of surprises. The train floating across the bay was the last thing I expected. Thanks so much for your words.
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Your writing is absolutely beautiful. Each time I come here, I feel a sense of calm reading your slices, yet through your words experience these moments with you. That is what writing is supposed to do!
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Leigh Anne, I cannot even tell you how much this note means to me! I am thrilled that you think this and that you are willing to say it. Thank you with all my heart. And happy weekend!!
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Well, what I would not have given to see this– a camera in hand or perhaps a sketchbook. Your words being me there. How wonderful.
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Thank you! The experience was so astonishing that I can still see it clearly in my memory. I’m delighted that you felt like you were there watching it happen, too.
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What a majestic story! I felt like I was standing on the beach next to you, watching the whole thing unfold. Absolutely amazing!
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Thank you for these incredibly uplifting words! I try to teach students that a goal of writing is to impact the reader, to “make it real.” I keep working at it myself but in all honesty, it’s a true joy to me. Again – thank you so much.
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