I'm in my ticket cabin at the railway station. The train gone, a lone passenger wearing a black designer raincoat stands motionless on the platform, in front of a green maize field. Familiar facial features, wearing Toto Oxford dressy shoes. Lengthy trips, endless pairs of railway tracks, probably overlong years of waiting for his return home.
He stands there, accompanied by two large, sturdy suitcases. His hands are well cared for and tender, his body slightly bent, eyes lost in the distance. "Omnia mutantur, nihil interit," everything changes, nothing perishes. It was a quiet landing on an entirely strange planet from his past.
grazing cows . . .
a boy with a willow flute
by the brook