In my childhood on my grandparents’ farm, the rooster’s crow at dawn encapsulated the nature of God’s creation in the serenity of a loving family. But today, in 2021, since 2016, each morning, I have been awakened by the bark of my dog Raven on sporadic mornings. The dawn erupts with a whistle, way off in the distance. Her ears fine-tuned to the encroachment of a train, warning of its tonnage by the roar of its engines, racing louder until it passes, leaving in its echo the clanging of rail cars, its wheels churning upon the railways of the times. A clanking that reverberated in my soul as shackles of bondage. On January 6, 2021, metaphorically, a train ran into the United States Capital. Its cargo? The unlearned lessons of history passed, now projected in real-time.