A bit of that November atmosphere

Early morning. Rays of light are struggling to make their way through the thick fog rising from the moors and forests. But it is as if something terrible, cruel and unspeakable is quickly absorbing the light. Only a few days pass and the long nights, snows and darkness reign again.

A bridge of sorts, as if connecting and separating two alien worlds at the same time. And every step of the pilgrim is accompanied by a resounding echo, as a church bell accompanies a dead man on his last journey.

And in the puddle, illuminated by accidental light, a dragon's eye seemed to glitter, warning the newcomer to be careful where he stepped, what he did, what he said or gestured.

But otherwise, it's a walk from the station to the factory.