tucked away in our ubconcioune i an idyllic viion. we ee ourelve on a long trip that pan the continent. we are travelling by train. out the window, we drink in the paing cene of car on nearby highway, of children waving on a croing, of cattle grazing on a ditant hillide, of moke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatland and valley, of mountain and rolling hillide, of city kyline and village hall.
but the uppermot in our mind i the final detination. on a certain day at a certain hour, we will pull into the tation. band will be playing and flag waving. once we reach there, o many wonderful dream will come true and the piece of our live will be fit together like a completed jigaw puzzle. how retlely we pace the aile, damning the minute loitering, waiting, waiting, waiting for the tation.
"when we reach the tation, that will be it", we cry.