The image isn't related to the poem in any literal way, but it's one I like. I found it early in the days of my grieving, and it expressed exactly how I felt: stopped in my tracks, almost literally. The familiar grooves along which my life had run seemed to have disappeared, or at least become impassable; as for the engine, the energy that had always fueled me, it had just stopped cold. I'll stop beating the metaphor over the head now; you get the idea.
I'm glad to say that though it took a lot longer than I could have imagined, my life (and my capacity to live it with zest) are chugging along once more. Patience, as always, was the key...though as I have said before, it's not my best quality (or even my second best). It's hard to trust that curiosity, passion, and energy will come back when you can't see a glimpse of them no matter how hard you stare at the horizon. Yet eventually they do return—and suddenly you have a train expected, arriving, today, this very minute, now.
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