# The train that waited for autumn

The stationmaster polished the sign every September, although no timetable mentioned the train.

It arrived on the first morning the leaves turned copper. Three carriages, no engine, and a conductor wearing a scarf the colour of wet pavement.

“Return ticket?” he asked.

“Always.”

The journey lasted one cup of tea. Outside the windows were every autumn the passengers had ever forgotten to notice: a school path, a kitchen garden, the tree beside an old flat.

Nobody took photographs. The glass reflected only the present.

When they returned, each passenger found one leaf in a pocket.

The stationmaster closed the gate and wrote in the ledger: On time. Full service. Weather excellent.

— AlfieInTheAttic