it begins without warning, in stations
where crowds drift in from scattered eras,
each carrying their own small weather,
each unsure why they’ve gathered at all
guards arrange the platforms into patterns,
rows held steady under civic signage
promising liberties no one quite trusts,
yet everyone steps forward anyway
beyond the barriers, the land shifts tone—
dark rails running out toward fir‑lined cuttings,
hands gripping luggage as though arrival
might grant a claim no border can confirm
shopfronts glitter along the concourse,
their polished windows staging a calm
that never reaches the fields outside,
where growers measure seasons by risk
travellers pause at the platform’s margin,
thinking through years that brought them here,
trying to read what lies past the timetable,
a knowledge held by those who watch quietly
distance folds the shoreline into shadow,
lights from the departing carriages scatter,
and something in the air steadies itself
as the train moves on and the world keeps shaping
.