Train Tract No. 0104

Does anybody really know what the goal is of the construction on Route 295 in New Jersey?  Apparently, I was deluded by my mechanic, whom I believed was telling the truth (imagine that!) when he informed me that workers were adding a lane to relieve traffic congestion.  That was a year ago, and now it seems that they’ve merely added wide shoulders.  Please, someone tell me that this development is temporary, and that the whole point was to add a lane.  With that I could live, unless the construction kills me first.  You take your life in your hands to enter 295.  On-ramps include such thrilling devices as stop signs and barricades around which drivers cannot see.  Please, someone tell me that there’s more to this than just adding another boondoggle to the list.
 
Happily, I avoided the whole mess and meditated on the train today.
 
Here is my Train Tract for the day:
 
The floor is vibrating and we move in fits and stutters.  The rhythm matches my rapid heart beat for beat, and I consider readying my cell phone, pushing the emergency numbers and poising my finger above SEND, just in case.  But the train calms and we are passing through an area of verdant growth.  I watch the prehistoric foliage through the wide angle lens of my oversized window.  Here are clusters of wide, triangular leaves studded with strands of depthless pearl delicacies, drifting in a blurred green stream.  Now and then a tall beanstalk of leafy hearts stands surprised to be so high above the rest.  The needle train is inserted into this untamed musculature.  As foliage engulfs us, it parts briefly to allow entry, and then closes in as we pass.  There is no warning when it all gives way to sky and river, and I wish the plants would reach out and keep us warm.  Beyond the turn in the river, people are digging and pouring cement, and my view has changed before I know how to stop.