And so, as for me, I sing now of the light that is Aguros.

Bright I see it as the very suns which the same Aguro now invokes to shine upon us.

And yet neither praise nor blame can I give at all to such as she without offense to

our splendid leader, who herself appears as preeminent as would a well-knit steed

of ringing hoof that overcomes in the race if he were set to graze among the unsubstantial

cattle of our dreams that fly.

See you not first that the coarser is of anetic blood, and secondly that the tresses that

bloom upon my cousin, Haggisikara, are like the purest gold.

But as for her silver face how shall I put it to you in express words, such is Haggisikara.

And yet she whose beauty shall run second not unto hers, but unto Aguros, shall run as

coarser colaxian, to pure Ibenian bread, for as we bear along her robe to orthia.

These our doves rise to fight for us amid the embarrosial night, not as those heavenly

doves, but brighter, I even as serious himself.

I'm journalist and I'm Morton in my podcast City of the Rails.

I plunge into the dark world of America's railroads searching for my daughter Ruby, who ran

off to hop train.

I'm just like stuck on this train, not where I'm going to end up, and I jump.

During my daughter I found a secret city of unforgettable characters living outside society,

off the grid and on the edge.

I was in love with the lifestyle and the freedom this community.

No one understands who we truly are.

The Rails made me question everything I knew about motherhood, history, and the thing we

...