I’d had a cup of tea at my parents’ house, sitting at their kitchen table, eating cookies and talking. Their kitchen walls are painted yellow, so the room is cheerful even on a winter day. On my way home, I noticed that the sun sending shimmers of colour through the trees so I took the road to the railroad track and got out to look at the horizon. The woods behind me were silent, and the ice crackled under my boots as I walked along the tracks, breathing in the dusk and listening for the rumble that would mean a train was coming.
