Serbia -> Romania

Cornfields.
The sun sets, red, orange, in scattered clouds.
Leaning telephone poles, wires hanging to the ground, lead to small villages.
Roofs sag and smoke rises from chimneys.
A thumbnail moon hangs in the dusk.
Abandoned railway stations sleep along the tracks, windows shattered.
Dirt tracks cross the rails; children walk home.
A pile of slash burns in a field - the smell of smoke and earth and trash.
The train echoes over a river crossing.
The silhouette of a belfry in the distance.
Serpentine fire.

I don't understand a word the old lady is saying. That seems fine with her. She finishes; I nod. Her good eye wanders. I look back out the window.

I think this is what I wanted.