It started drizzling and the sky became grey and heavy. It felt like we were going quickly, quickly enough for the wheat to blur into watercolour yellow. But we couldn't outrun the clouds that stood like monoliths, grand and brooding as they descended.
Everything looked like it was hidden behind a silk screen. I could make out some shapes but not much more than that. The watercolours washed out to smears. My eyes grew heavy but the repetitive bumping of the train kept me grounded, somewhat.
We pull up at an old station. To me, it seemed like the most absurd little thing: a brutalist concrete mushroom popping out of the soil. There was nothing around it but grass. I couldn't even see an adjoining road.
A clutch of festival goes stood on the platform with their backpacks and a portion of the civilians disembarked and switched places with them. Where the new recruits came from, I had no idea. Stranger still, I couldn't quite make out where the locals were going. There seemed to be nothing for miles.
I didn't have too much time to ponder over this as we were soon on our way again.