It begins, as most majestic things do, with the tiniest seed of an idea. Sometimes it’s a feeling, sometimes it’s an injustice, and sometimes it’s something you have to do or you know you’ll die inside. In the beginning, then, is the quietest rumbling, like a distant train in the middle of the night. You sense it before you really know what it is.
Fortunately, I’m a little beyond that early stage of a new project. At this point, that train is loud and insistent and about to arrive, and nothing is going to stop it. There’s exhilaration in that, but exhaustion and weariness too. Above all else, though, it is a labor of love, and I can’t wait for this train to really take off.
For now, there’s the merest whisper of turning wheels, the faintest light from afar, and the lightest wisp of smoke from an engine that can simply be sensed, within a vehicle that can barely be felt, on a voyage whose outcome can only be surmised.
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