Lights Out

One week to go before the clocks go back. Crepuscular walks after work close in and all that stands out in the ebbing light is the bright white of field mushrooms (enclosed behind electric fencing this year), or a white fallow deer. Warm winds are battering the garden and winter's migrant birds have already blown in.

Mountain bikers with dazzling LED beams hurtle along streets, through the ford, and head up to the Roman Road. The big bright Hunter's Moon has waned. I feel my way in the dark, tuned in for voices, tobacco smoke, cracked twigs. I'd be happier to think I was totally alone. Who's out there? Only another dog walker or a rabbit hunter - but I don't know which way he's pointing his gun. I reminisce with someone about the year we had a Christmas full moon. She was in France I was in England but both countries were white with the hard frost reflecting moonlight and we celebrated being outside. I went for a family night walk.