End of the line

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.

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