She was a conductor, not of music but of trains. She wore a dark blue floppy cap that looked like a worn-in pilots hat. She was a land pilot leading the linked machines across terrains. One idiosyncrasy she had, a worrisome one, was that she gazed through a telescope while she conducted. Right out the windshield the telescope reared its neck. To gaze up at the stars. At space. Somehow, someway, she would guide the train to follow the constellations instead of the arduously laid tracks. She connected dot after dot after dot, sketching pictures into the lands she and her whimsy-friendly passengers crossed. Crop circles couldn’t hold a spooky candle to the works of art she carved. Even sightseers from different planets would come to sneak a peak at the living, breathing designs.
She received medals, applause, chapters in textbooks for engineering, history, and leadership, and pats on the back from all her admirers. What a quirky, kooky lady who slung her arm out the window and never dropped her smile.
I wish I could meet her.