The arrival

Here’s what I remember.

I’m in a small town. By small, I mean Mayberry small. And like Mayberry, it’s of a certain era. Cute and cozy. Surrounded by trees.

It’s connected to the rest of the world by a twisty-turny two-lane road and a train track that leads to a depot where a crowd is gathering.

Typical train track and depot, typical crowd.

A train arrives. Only the engine, actually – the old-fashioned locomotive part, but without any cars.

It slows as it approaches.

Perched outside the locomotive are six famous country singers. They’re standing on the narrow metal platforms that run the length of the boiler, three left, three right, and their matching American flag-themed spandex costumes make them look like a team of super heroes – the Justice League, perhaps.

They wave to the crowd.

The crowd waves back.

Suddenly, I’m somewhere else.