For years, a train made the twice-daily journey
to and from remote Kami-Shirataki station in Hokkaido
until its only passenger finally graduated from high school.
Imagine miles and miles of white in winter, the cloudy
yellow beam approaching, muffled soughing and sighing
of wheels on the tracks. Imagine ochre and stippled
countryside, sheets unrolling with the thaw of spring.
Where is she now, the last ticket tendered?
In response to Via Negativa: Foggy.