A Winters day

Cold wind, harsh, penetrating, blows across the station platform, whistling in the steel beams of the footbridge between the platforms, a relic of the glory days of steam powered engines, the halcyon days of the Victorian boom that had made this town a name not just locally, but globally. An industrial power within the most powerful industrial empire the World had ever seen.

The chipped and cracked paint told of the fall of that empire, as so many before, the mistakes, the mistreatment of so many members of what could have been a benevolent power for good. The greed of those in control of the people, yet so rarely in control of themselves.

The clouds scud, grey and white, driven by the wind as the sailing ships of trade and war once were. No longer, the steam trains and sailing ships are long gone with the empire they powered, replaced with diesel, electric, nuclear, the romance lost with them….


About Autistic writing

Im 46, autistic and vocal about it, a specialist autism mentor in higher education, embarking on my MEd in adult autism, autistic advocate and campaigner, writer and co-founder of asP - the autism strategy partnership #differentnotdamaged #askaboutasP

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