Weaving Tapestries, Painting Pictures, Dreaming Dreams

On our way back from Germany our train stopped at the border station of Domažlice in Czech and we had to get off and take a bus as there was an accident down the tracks. We were not happy at leaving our comfortable,  warm train and waiting out in the cold for a bus which took its time in coming. Each time a bus appeared the impatient queue of people, us included rushed with bag and baggage, only to return disheartened as it was not ours.
Finally our bus came, we stored our bags and got in and settled down and the bus began its slow journey. To our delight it did not go on a highway but on narrow twisting country roads, through little towns and old villages some with houses not more than a few decades old, painted and well kept, with bright red roofs, firewood neatly stacked in front, already ready for the cold of autumn and winter. Others with ancient looking houses, plaster peeling from walls, revealing the brick and stone beneath and blackened earthen tiles on the roofs, villages which looked so much a part of the landscape as to make a person think they had grown out of the earth itself, like the trees. We passed castles, churches, forests, fields some lying fallow, some bright green, some on rolling hills, some with ripening corn, some were being plowed by farmers in tractors. Apple trees lined the road in many places, tbeir boughs untiringly carryying their ripening fruit, green and red and getting ready for picking. We passed yellow fields dotted with rolls of hay. We passed woods and copses thick with trees still green in September. A single impatient tree in a group of green had already embraced its mantle of yellow and red, and stood as an example of the glory to come. The land around was full of signs of the season and heralding the cold months to come. Both the Earth and man were preparing themselves for it. I wondered at the difference between those living in the city and those living in the country. While city dwellers went from glorying in the days of summer to grumbling when the weather was windy, rainy or cold, huddling into their protective clothing and hurrying along on their way, the country dwellers were so much in tune with their environment, making the best of it in all seasons.
We were blessing our stars at this unexpected adventure in the middle of nowhere, enjoying the leisurely meandering drive when suddenly the bus stopped at a station and we had to get off and with bag and baggage, the young helping the old and infirm, make our way in a narrow line to the waiting train which stood beside a forested valley. We had no time to take in the name of the station and it may well stay a mystery. The mystery might be solved as the next station, was Holýšov. I might be able to find out the name of the preceding station but I would like to leave it as a mystery.