Sometimes the train wakes me

Most times I don't hear it, but when the pressure is right and the wind is from the right direction it sounds as if it's right across the street. Like this morning. It's likely not the slag train for it's electric and goes about things more quietly. I have no idea how many times a day it hauls slag to the slag dump, east of the tailings pond. In the past we'd sometimes head down the garbage dump road, crawl up into the rocks and watch the molten waste flow into the pond like lava from four small volcanoes. And I would stand beside H and ask him again what it was like to be so close to something so hot. He had worked as a brakeman on that train. I asked him again this morning and he gave the same smile. The same story.