<p class="ql-block">Heard that whistle again, outside the . Long, drawn-out, like it’s dragging a ton of blues behind it.</p><p class="ql-block"> </p><p class="ql-block">No clue where it’s coming from. Could be a train miles out, or a barge down the river—ain’t gonna bother checking. Just that sound, hanging in the air, slow and thick as molasses.</p><p class="ql-block"> </p><p class="ql-block">Makes you pause, y’know? Stare through the glass, mind going blank. Letting that noise wrap around you like a old, worn-out blanket. Kinda empty, kinda lonesome.</p><p class="ql-block"> </p><p class="ql-block">Crazy how a sound can hit like that. Right in the gut, like some memory you forgot you had, creeping back.</p><p class="ql-block"> </p><p class="ql-block">Fades after a bit. But you’re left with this hush, like something up and left. Yeah, heard it again. That whistle. Way out there, and heavy with the blues.</p>