The train never seeks permission to disrupt your day. One moment, you’re engrossed in your routine, and the next, the barriers drop, bells clang, and that unmistakable low whistle slices through the air, as if it has always been there. You find yourself halted, standing still as the familiar sounds of metal and motion envelop you. In this pause, you listen; the rhythmic clatter of the train stirs up memories. Perhaps it’s a journey from the past, the excitement of reaching a distant place, or quiet conversations shared with friends. Time seems to slow, wrapping you in nostalgia and prompting reflection on life’s unexpected interruptions. It’s a reminder that significant moments often arrive without warning, reshaping your path in an instant. Even now, I find comfort in that. Growing up off H Highway behind Walmart in Excelsior Springs, the train tracks ran close enough that they felt like part of the house. You could hear them in every room – the whistle at night, the distant…