Firelit

We took a few puffs, he watching the fire, and I his firelit face.

Shall I make a gentle song Here in my firelit study, When outside the winds blow strong And the lanes are muddy?

The locomotive was the now inevitable American 2-8-0, No. 2623. There she stood, effectively blocking the level crossing, simmering gently, massively inert. It was almost dark, and one's final sight was of her high, firelit cab, the enginemen nonchalantly leaning out, waiting for the right-away, while impatient road convoys piled up on both sides of the crossing.