The yard was silent and I didn't mind it

I'm standing in the roundhouse, but all the engines are cold. No hiss, no clatter, no radio chatter — just the smell of grease and the faint ticking of metal cooling. I'm checking a journal that has no entries, and I realize I'm not waiting for anything. The silence isn't empty; it's like the yard finally let go of all the noise it's been carrying for me.