A neighbor is having some work done today that involves a lot of hammering on solid metal and the unloading of a trailer. My imagination, which takes little encouragement, has him connecting to the transcontinental railroad, albeit a little late in the game. But with the state of the T and the commute to Boston being what it is, I don’t think building one’s own railroad is a bad gambit.

Naturally, I picture him and his crew out in the yard wearing coveralls and newsboy caps, with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Leaning on their sledgehammer handles, the men contemplate the next steps. It’s late morning and the energy from an early breakfast ebbs. Their lunch pails wait patiently off to the side for a well earned mid-day break. The September sun is warm, but nothing like the dog days of August when the heat of the day bears down like the sledgehammers they wield.

Suddenly, I realize the hammering sound has stopped. A quiet calm has settled over the neighborhood. Crickets and birds are chirping. Leaves, which are turning orange and yellow, rustle gently on the light breeze.

As an Amazon truck whizzes by, the spell is broken. I see a pickup truck backing out of my neighbor’s driveway. It’s 2024 again. The imaginary lunch pails have dissolved into the ether. The guys are headed to Subway for lunch.

I’m smiling. I’m also getting hungry. Although I wasn’t building a railroad, or whatever they were actually doing, having a vivid imagination can also work up an appetite. I wonder what’s in my lunch pail?