My husband bought some fresh fruit from a roadside seller while I picked my way around a decaying kangaroo carcass, a dog skeleton, the remains of a campfire and debris left by wayward youth to grab another shot of the lonely old railway station at Ben Bullen.
From In a Waiting Room by Thomas Hardy
"On a morning sick as the day of doom
With the drizzling gray
Of an English May,
There were few in the railway waiting-room.
About its walls were framed and varnished
Pictures of liners, fly-blown, tarnished.
The table bore a Testament
For travellers' reading, if suchwise bent.
But next there came
Like the eastern flame
Of some high altar, children--a pair -
Who laughed at the fly-blown pictures there.
"Here are the lovely ships that we,
Mother, are by and by going to see!
When we get there it's 'most sure to be fine,
And the band will play, and the sun will shine!"
It rained on the skylight with a din
As we waited and still no train came in;
But the words of the child in the squalid room
Had spread a glory through the gloom. "