Voices on the Wind Voices on Waiting
Riding the Interurban by Wilda Morris Im eight years old, hardly able to stand, feet restless, Buster Browns pushing me up on tiptoes as I peer farther down the track, ears eager to hear the warning whistle and metallic click of wheels rolling along the tracks. Eager to see the conductor step out to usher us into the train. My sister Dorinda is only slightly less exuberant and bouncy as she stands beside me, less impatient than I. She too is eager to board the Interurban linking Cedar Rapids to Iowa City and small towns in between. Dorinda wont forget to tell the conductor we want off at Goat Hollow though unlike me shell have enough restraint not to tell him well climb the tree and milk the goats, that we cant wait to begin another weekend adventure with Uncle Norman.