A Short Stop

You woke in a comfortable bed. The dim light of dawn shone in through an open window; a light spring breeze entered and passed over your linens, playing with your hair. You felt no sense of grogginess, only the lingering sleep in your eyes.
The room was simple and wooden: a far cry from the technology of the city you knew until now. A small stool was placed next to the bed just beside a nightstand with only a candle and a glass of water sitting together. Beyond it you saw a door slightly ajar. In the far corner was an empty desk and a windsor chair with clothes neatly folded atop it.
You realized you weren't wearing the stuffy blazer and slacks you seem to remember dressing yourself in; you were only wearing a light set of white cotton nightwear. The bed was warm but the air was crisp and clean. It wasn't difficult to rouse yourself from the sheets' comforts.
As you moved to the chair, the view out the window caught your eye. A wide expanse of dewy greenery flowed out under a purplish morning sky. Your bare feet changed course on the worn floorboards and you approached the window. Planting your hands on the sill, you took a deep breath of the fresh scent.
The door creaked. It wasn't enough to startle you, but your head naturally turned to meet the sound. It lightly swung open fully. It was empty, as was the little bit of the hallway you could see beyond it. The clothes sat, momentarily forgotten, as you curiously went to investigate.
The rest of the house was much like the room you woke in. Simple. Not barren, but lacking most of the convenience you'd been accustomed to. It reminded you of years long past. Days where you had little to your name, and even littler expectations of the future you hoped to carve for yourself.
It was all so familiar. Comfortable. You lingered in the kitchen at the doorway leading outside. It felt like home, or, at least, a home away from home. A part of you wanted to stay and a part of you knew that there was business to attend to. Business that you were undoubtedly late for.
The breeze beckoned from the rolling hills outside. You stepped out.

Your foot met the concrete of the train platform. The lingering smell of the coal smoke of the steam engine filled the area. People bustled past your left and right, urgently racing to their destinations and deadlines. A crisp breeze sailed down the tracks, jostling and knocking the cap from your head.
It tumbled and danced over the heads and shoulders of the waves of crowds surging by you before disappearing. You sighed. While waiting for the platform to clear, the train heaved and groaned before taking off to the next station. As it passed, you smelled a familiar grassy wind.
You spotted the now crumpled hat at the edge of the platform and stooped down to retrieve it. As you stood again, dusting it off, the platform beneath your feet was replaced with the dewy morning grass.
Atop the green hillside another breeze passed by. You turned left and right, surveying the area. A familiar cottage sat quietly a fair ways off.
A blink and the station returned. After a shrug, the wrinkled cap found its way back to your head. You set out feeling refreshed.