Stop. Stop everything. Just breathe. Just accept what ever your senses bring in.
There is a train slicing through the liquid arrows of October rain. Now it showers, now it doesn't. Now there is a fog, now there isn't. Now the train slows, now it speeds up. The sleeping passengers are gently rocked into a wakefulness. The awake ones soak in the cool breeze. Beauties of yesterday, wake up with hay hair and remain oblivious to the situation, not for a minute. Watch the transformation. Get bored... or pretend to get bored. Look outside. But the attention stays inside. Peripheral vision is indeed more sensitive. Catch the otherwise inconspicuous hints, given to one another, with just blinks and the pause between blinks. All things reaching an acceptable status and the backdrop registered, the play from yesterday, slowly resumes. It is unclear who's who and what they do.It is compelling for an observer. You can't observe and not affect and remain unaffected for too long. Hind sight. After all, you too are playing an observer.
A dreary feeling envelopes and shoves away the rest of the thread of thought. Yet, the rain, the cold and warmth of the beings, stick... like live clay that could take any form from that moment frozen in memory...