January dribbles - 9

Station platform is cold, rain like snow, skies like stone, while whistling rails atone for ice and time. Woman shivers, gloved fingers grasping her cane; she, tight-folded, statue-still with frozen eyes.

Train pulls in, hobbled lady, “Sit here.” Tunnel looms, engine zooms.

Blue skies are bright as woman’s warming gaze.

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