Anton, Texas, May 2007.

As a kid, when I heard a train whistle in the distance, I would get on my bike and ride half a mile to the railroad track, so I could count the cars of the train as it went by.

This train came along as I was already out of my car photographing the lonely West Texas town of Anton in the twilight. Even now, I couldn’t resist getting close to it.

The vibration in the earth stirs the blood, the distance to be covered fires the imagination, and the silence after it’s gone is heartbreaking.

A train full of boxcars and grain hoppers, rushing across the wide open prairie is just about the most American thing I know.