In December, the Amtrak Pacific Surfliner is no ordinary train— steel rails become sleigh runners, carrying sunlit passengers into a holiday without snow. Scarves flutter in breezes that never freeze, and travelers lean into the season in their own radiant way.

So, when Marlone, a train devotee and fifth-grade teacher, invites Marianne, a ninth-grade algebra teacher, on a holiday ride to San Diego from Santa Barbara, romance collides with timetables, broken card readers in the café, and the eternal question: why a train, of all things, in the busiest week of the year?

The answer, as the rails hum southward, waits in the rhythm of the journey.

Love Finds Its Track

December rails sing — steel sleigh bells along the coast.
Holiday scarves ripple in golden light,
passengers bundled for a winter without snow.

The café car sputters — its ancient card reader wheezes,
then dies with a final sigh.
“Café closed,” the attendant announces,
and disappointment drifts through the aisle.

But Marlone, smiling, remembers his students.
From his satchel he lifts tins of cookies,
ginger snaps,
crescents,
sugar stars,
gifts from fifth-graders who know his sweet tooth.

Marianne, laughing, adds her own treasure:
a large box of See’s Candies,
wrapped in ribbon by her algebra class.

Together they spread their students’ offerings,
and suddenly the aisle transforms — a banquet on wheels,
a bakery in motion, a feast stitched from classrooms, kindness and chance.

The man rehearsing interview answers now chews gingerbread between bullet points. The woman knitting a scarf hums “Silent Night,”
yarn looping like rails in motion.
Two aging surfers debate Beach Boys carols,
their laughter louder than the waves outside.

Strangers lean closer,
sharing sweets,
sharing stories,
sharing cheer,
sharing time.

The train becomes a grand party,
a democracy of crumbs and carols, a choir of oddities singing themselves into kinship.

Marianne watches Marlone’s grin ripple through the car,
his cookies turning strangers into kin.
She sees it clearly — this is not distraction, but communion.

Marlone whispers:
Trains are love.
You buy the ticket,
you don’t know the stops.
Sometimes the scenery itself is the gift.
Ridiculous, yes.
Strangely true.

By San Diego,
the car still glows, glazed with laughter,
shimmering with peppermint joy. Marianne,
sparkling eyes, smiles, thinking:
the line is not ending, it is beginning — with Marlone,
with trains,
with strangers turned friends,
with holiday cookies that taste of everlasting cheer.