The smokey train.
The whistle blows.
Chug, chug, chug…
The rattle, the clanks, the smoke.
The golden, red, yellow, green autumn leaves float by.
The fields, the valleys, the trees.
The smell of old wood.
The trip to a time long gone.
I feel like I’m on a film set.
’39 steps’.
Philip Dodson 