Sunday, 25 August 2013

Night Drive

The fairy lights, strewn through the leaves of the neighbour's trees have the desired effect. It feels like we have wandered into the pages of a very old tale. The sky's tinted with a mysterious green and the sickle moon hangs where something strange comes down from the greenish heaven in the shape of a grey heron – lazily, effortlessly skimming itself back to roost by the river the trees turning black on the riverbank and the Sunday bell silent in the flint tower. Meanwhile, a black car sets out down a winding road that leads through the woods, blues filling the cocoon of the car and the smell of summer coming in through the windows. The driver sees a light some ways off in the woods. He can't look for long the road being full of curves. It's a white light framed in a square. The edges of the light get blended, blurred with the darkness. Not the right kind of light, the driver thinks, to signify a window because the white flickers and can't keep still. Besides, the driver is thinking as he half watches for those curves, there are no houses in these woods. The road moves on. Comes to a white sign hanging from a tree. TROUT FARM. Comes to a town where a shape runs down the street. The shape turns and the driver is thinking now of a dry field he'd passed earlier that afternoon. The field was very dry, the stubble bleached to a white that was almost silver in places. A buzzard composed of red and brown feathers sat on a post, statuesque and scanning, surveying the stubble, the long grass in the verges for prey. The driver had thought that it was inevitable: some mouse or rat would be bound to come along soon and betray itself through complacent movement. The eyes in the road fixed him. Two gold-green discs like strange planets until the shape turned and showed itself in the black outline of a fox. He parked the car. The black bonnet smothered by a lilac bush that would combine to create a striking colour contrast in the morning. It was still damn hot. The moon made a mirror image of herself. Then the original went away.


  1. Love these otherworldly images, colors, textures. Ending is sublime, love all this.

    1. And I love this comment. What a gift to receive.

      Thank you Susan.



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