I was returning to Portland, Oregon on Amtrak, while sitting in the lounge car when a young man asked if he could share the space.  Never being one to turn down a chance to converse with someone besides myself, I welcomed his arrival.

After we introduced ourselves, he said, “I’m going to Seattle, how about you?”  I told Anon, that was his name, that I was going to Portland, then on to the Oregon Coast, where I lived.

The train had stopped in Havre, Montana, heading west then south where we could see the eastern edge of the foothills of Glacier National Park and Anon said, ”Look at those beautiful mountains, they sit there like a lover seducing you to come make love to them.”

We continued talking and drinking beer, but my mind kept going back to his statement and the plea from that beautiful woman.

I wait patiently for you to embrace my being, I have been here ten thousand years and ten thousand more, however, my yearning is now, only for you to Come, now, make love to me

At about 10pm, the train stopped at Whitefish, Montana and the air cold and crisp, snow covered the ground, and the train moved slowly west of Glacier and could be heard through its lonesome whistle, “I’ll be back” and a breeze meandered through the trees whispering from a distant place; come, now, make love to me.