From last Friday...
The Domestic and International Terminal stations on the Airport underground railway line are dark and sterile, not the type of places to begin or end an adventure. Yes, the grey clad platforms are clean and modern, but they are devoid of human life, bar the transient travellers, and character. You would not know that they connected to the city's main gateways to elsewhere, but for their names.
Outside the sky is also grey with low clouds threatening to cast their load upon the ground at the merest provocation. Approaching dusk darkens them further still, yellowing only at the edges of the sky. This greyness would be depressing but for the fact that it is the end of the week's and time for rejoicing.
Now, the train rides towards the setting sun, towards the orange glow suffusing the air itself. Tendrils of grey mist reach downwards and droplets flick at the windows, the sky relinquishing control of its substance. The air is scented of rains and the vapours of the land it touches. The western sky burns, but it is almost extinguished as night and grey overwhelm.
Soon it will be journey's end, time to be cocooned in the warmth of home, to feed and watch, love and share away from the greyness outside.