Yesterday, in Paris, I saw him again. A man pulling a train of toy vehicles along the pavement. They rattled softly against the pavement as he walked. The toy vehicles stretched along the pavement like a cheerful little parade that had forgotten its band. He was not pulling one toy truck or two, but a long, vibrant convoy of little cement mixers, tractors, garbage trucks, and miniature cars, all linked together with string like a child’s improvised railway. Each vehicle carried something: a teddy bear, a doll, a small flag, or a plastic animal, like a scene from the movie, Toy Story. People noticed immediately. Children stopped. A woman with a stroller laughed. A man on a bicycle slowed down to watch the procession pass. The man himself seemed used to the attention. He smiled, nodding when people pointed or asked questions. I had seen him once before, a week earlier, from the window of a restaurant on the same street. At first, I thought it might be some sort of delivery system, or a performance, or perhaps a Parisian protest. He carried no sign explaining what it meant. Perhaps it does not mean anything. Yesterday, I realized that, perhaps, he was just walking. And the train was just following. Or perhaps each vehicle carries its own little story. I began to imagine them. The red truck near the front might belong to a child who insisted on sleeping with it beside the pillow every night. The cement mixer with the American flag could have crossed an ocean in someone’s suitcase, as one small piece of home carried to Paris. A green tractor might have been rescued from a flea market box where all the wheels were missing from its companions. The doll sitting upright in the yellow lorry might once have belonged to someone who outgrew it but could never quite throw it away. One by one, the vehicles could have arrived in this man’s life like passengers waiting for a train: abandoned toys, forgotten toys, toys found on sidewalks or given by friends, or handed over by children who had simply grown older. Perhaps he repaired them. Perhaps he adopted them. Perhaps he simply understood that small things deserve another journey. That is what the convoy looked like to me: not a collection of toys, but a travelling museum of childhood. A procession of memories rolling slowly through the streets of Paris. Children watched the procession pass with the serious concentration children give to unusual things. Adults smiled in a way adults rarely smile at strangers anymore. And the man kept walking, pulling the train gently behind him, as if he were leading a group of tiny travellers who trusted him to show them the world. Paris is full of grand spectacles, like the Eiffel Tower lighting up at night, the wide avenues, the museums, and the famous cafés. Sometimes, the most magical sight is a man on an ordinary street pulling a train of small stories behind him. If you see him one day, stop for a moment. Look closely at the vehicles. You might recognize one of them. It might remind you of a toy you once loved, or a childhood afternoon you had forgotten, or a small object that once seemed as important as the entire world. And if that happens, then perhaps the train has done exactly what it was meant to do. It has delivered something back to you … a Parisian parade of pure joy.
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Thursday, 5 March 2026
The man who pulls a train of small stories
Wednesday, 18 February 2026
Freedom, fire, and fate: 3 horse songs for the Lunar Year of the Red Fire Horse
Freedom, fire, and fate: 3 horse songs for the Lunar Year of the Red Fire Horse… 2026 … a year of movement, courage, instinct, passion, and sudden turns of fate …
As 2026 welcomes the Lunar Year of the Red Fire Horse, three horse songs of living, loving, leaving, and returning come to mind. Each song has a different kind of wisdom for the year ahead. There’s a tenderness in the 1971 song “Wild Horses” by The Rolling Stones that often gets mistaken for sadness. It isn’t really about loss; it’s about loving without possession. … “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away. Wild, wild horses, we’ll ride them some day” … Some things, like people and dreams, were never meant to be held too tightly. Relationships change shape, paths in the road fork unexpectedly, and plans may loosen their hold. The wisdom of “Wild Horses” is: Don’t exhaust yourself trying to control what’s meant to move freely. Freedom doesn’t always mean loss. Sometimes it’s the deepest form of love. Then there’s the haunting beauty of the 1989 song, “The Horses” by Rickie Lee Jones, and in 1990 a number one hit for Australian singer Daryl Braithwaite, my preferred version. This song sounds like surrender, but it’s really about trusting the journey once the gates are open. … “We’ll be riding on the horses, yeah, way up in the sky, little darlin’. If you fall, I’ll pick you up, pick you up …” The message for me in this song is: Let life carry you sometimes. Not every leap needs a plan. Not every answer needs urgency. Some of the best transformations in life happen when you stop wrestling the reins, stop steering every turn, and let the horse go where it wants to go. And finally, the wandering soul of “A Horse with No Name” by America. This 1971 song is about drifting, but also about simplicity. The desert in the song isn’t emptiness; it’s away from noise, expectation, and the endless news of the world, where the song’s narrator finds peace by being present. For me its wisdom is: You don’t have to understand the whole journey to travel it well. … “You see, I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name. It felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert, you can remember your name, ‘cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain” … Taken together, these three songs give me a survival guide for a year of freedom, fire, and fate. “Wild Horses” is a song of freedom of the heart; the freedom and grace to let go of expectations. It represents letting people and dreams be what they are. “The Horses” and its soaring version by Daryl Braithwaite is a song of inner fire. Transformational fire represents momentum after stagnation, new opportunities, and renewal, like the legendary phoenix rising from the ashes. “A Horse with No Name” is a song of an unexpected path, a turn of fate. It represents detours that become destiny, losing direction but finding peace, and sudden confusing shifts that become liberation. The trio is a life compass for this year. Release. Rise. Trust. Can’t see the whole article? Want to view the original article? Want to view more articles? Go to Martina’s Substack: The Stories in You and Me More Paris articles are in my Paris website The Paris Residences of James Joyce You're currently a free subscriber to The Stories in You and Me . For the full experience, upgrade your subscription.
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The man who pulls a train of small stories
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