
A Long Platform in the Rain
Rain begins while I am crossing the platform. It is light at first, more like a thin veil than a shower, but the station roof covers only the central section. I move beneath it and watch the tracks darken. The far end of the platform fades behind a gray curtain of water. The station is longer than its village seems to require. A row of old lamps runs toward a brick signal hut, and the platform edge follows a gentle curve. A timetable case is fixed beside each entrance, though both display the same information in slightly different formats. The roof is supported by iron posts with small leaf shapes worked into their capitals. Paint has lifted near the bolts, exposing a warm rust color beneath. Rain taps on the metal above me, then collects in a gutter that empties into a stone channel beside the platform. A train passes without stopping, its windows lit against the afternoon. The rush of air presses the rain sideways and sends a few drops beneath the roof. Afterward, the station becomes quiet again. A worker checks a signal box and disappears through a door marked with a number. On the bench, a folded local newspaper lies beneath a plastic bag. The paper's front page carries a photograph of a flooded road several towns away. Someone has circled a bus notice in blue pen…
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