You see things in the forest… in the dark.
Sometimes rabbits, startled by torchlight, or dead voles and dormice, abandoned by fleeing owls or foxes.
I hurry back to camp; no-one saw me leave and now they’ve kicked over the embers, everyone’s gone to bed.
The lamp is extinguished in my parents’ tent; Mummy was tipsy, and is already snoring.
But a light still burns in Aunt Josephine’s tent, and silhouettes move in strange ways.
I’m getting a pony; maybe a puppy too. I know this.
Because otherwise I’ll tell Mummy what I saw in the forest… in the dark.
Something of a revamp this week, I’m afraid. I’m still trying to restore cognitive functions after entertaining three grandchildren for five days. We loved having them, and are amazed that one pink sock was the only thing left behind. This must be a record. Thanks to Rochelle for her leadership of Friday Fictioneers, in what I know was an equally busy week for her.