I like a night train for the same reason I like a long letter: it takes a while and it does not apologise. You board in one season and wake in another, and the middle is yours.
This one left at nine. By ten the city had thinned to a few orange lights; by midnight even those had gone. I lay in the narrow berth with the blind half up and watched the ridges slide past — blue on blue, each a little darker than the last, with a moon laid across them like a coin.
Somewhere around four I woke and could not tell if we were moving. The window held nothing but stars and the shape of the next hill. It was, without exaggeration, the most restful thing I have seen.