It be winter..................

The temperature is in the single digits and the flag at the public library is blowing as straight out from the flagpole as a wedding night prick.

The wind is sweeping across nearly two miles of unbroken cornfield here and carrying with it those lethal wind-chill factors that make believers of the uninitiated.

It's the sort of night that makes rail-roading a manly adventure........that generates stories, told in seedy bars, that rank up there with tales of whaling from wooden ships in the North Atlantic, or engaging in mortal, single combat with edged weapons against naked berserkers painted blue.

It's the sort of night that makes me miss rail-roading......

Thus endeth the entry.