The rhythm of the train on the tracks makes the pencil jump and jiggle. Fields and towns, and trees and sidings and bridges and the backsides of peoples houses all hunkered trampolines and slippy decking in the winter gloom. And church spires and power stations and motorways and rivers that steam bend round the edges of meadows all flat and sky filled. All there and then not. Drawing over the last tree and bend in the road, over the last warehouse and pylon and spray of graffiti, the layers of time and place reel more and more until my eyes sizzle. I pinch my mask around my nose as my glasses mist and the world dims in the fog.