On a train, winter to home

Up the green slope, the train rose, dragging its compartments finally out of the endless two lanes of patty fields and into the mountains. Mountains finally! And as if in home greetings, hooting birds, the croaking frogs, the crinkle of crickets, and the faint sound of falling water welcome me back, beneath the ever-present clacking of the track. I folded the blanket tighter around myself, wondering how long I’ve been gone. It seemed like nothing’s change. Night now, and the mist gather outside the window panel.  In third class, people open up the windows to catch the crisp earthy breeze. In second, we’re stuck with moldy smell of air-con, gone musty now after twelve hours. Outside I can smell the fresh drizzle, working into the soil. The sun finally sets to the west, cutting across grey-greens hills, sparkling off gold pagodas, echoing the heavy dong for evening prayers. Small drops drip form on the glass, through the night, and unnoticeably the fog hand low obscuring the sunrise. The cock-a-doodle-do welcomes me, to that last green-platform, at the end of the line. And there I’ll be looking for my dearest anchor in that red and green sweater. She’ll be looking for me across that platform. And then, I’ll finally be home, with that first hug from my mother.