The Train

In this autumn scene by Merrill Coffin, a lone locomotive cuts through a golden landscape, carrying with it the weight of motion, memory, and time. The black engine—marked simply with the number 444—moves steadily down the tracks, steam rising from its body and drifting into the cool fall air.

The setting is unmistakably autumn. The land glows in warm golds and ochres, with only a small handful of trees standing in the distance, their leaves catching the light of the season. There is a quiet openness to the landscape, as though the land itself has paused to watch the train pass through.

In the foreground, the railroad ties stretch toward the viewer, grounding the scene and pulling the eye towards the track. 

Steam billows from the locomotive, softening the hard lines of iron and steel. It blurs the boundary between machine and nature. The train does not dominate the landscape; instead, it belongs to it—part of a larger rhythm of travel, labor, and seasonal change.

This painting feels like a moment caught between destinations. The train is going somewhere, but where matters less than the act of going itself. It is a portrait of transition—summer to fall, stillness to motion, past to future—rendered with warmth and restraint.

In true Merrill Coffin fashion, the scene is humble, familiar, and quietly powerful. It reminds us that even the most ordinary sights—a train passing through autumn fields—can hold beauty, meaning, and a sense of timeless passage.