Aldrington Halt

Hushed streets after a day of unsummery gloom. A breath of something in the night, not necessarily of watchfulness, but more some kind of wariness. Things open up when things get too still. The light of the lamps is lurid, casts uncertain shadows on the leaves of bushes, of trees, on the brick walls of houses.
Pause at the entrance to Aldrington Station - well, not exactly the entrance, as there really isn't an entrance. There's no ticket office, just long sloping paths leading up to the platform. Not even called a station, but a halt.
I glance down the tunnel that leads underneath the tracks, well-lit and shorter than I was expecting. That subway always seem so long when I am not here.
There is still mist about the street light halos, and the sharp-coolness reminds me of the lost autumn that I've been looking for all these years.