Childhood Lost 21
End of the Line
I arrived in Whitefish, Montana by noon the following day. It was a picturesque town situated along the Kootenai River in the Flathead National Forest. After the barren expanses of the high plains, the forest and encircling mountains looked like Eden.
The conductor announced a forty-five minute layover so I got off, wandered into the nearest copse of verdant evergreens, sat down under their tangled shadows, and reverently inhaled the clean, woody, memory laden scent. The train pulled out, forty-five minutes later, right on schedule. Soon, the last car wound away out of sight into the hazy distance.
With childhood over, adolescence aborted and the ghost of Herbert W haunting each footstep, I got up and strolled down off the gentle hillock and headed out into adulthood, vaguely southwest.
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