After dark and after dinner I decided to go for a moonlit
walk. I did so for four reasons:
1) I was bored. There’s nothing on the TV and nothing I want
to read at the moment. I’ve had no e-mails for five days and no comments on any
of the last twenty posts, so there’s nothing to respond to. And I’m still
bereft of any ideas for a new story.
2) I’d been hearing the cracks and bangs of fireworks for
some time (it being Bonfire Night in Britain)
and I thought I might catch the odd display somewhere.
3) I was curious to see whether Sarah’s bunch were having a
bonfire with all the tree branches they’ve been lopping off lately.
4) I wanted to see whether the village pub was still open.
There’s a planning notice gone up to convert it to holiday lets. The
traditional British pub is rapidly becoming a thing of the past for a number of
reasons, which is an awful shame but a sign of the times.
Despite the cold, it was a pleasant experience. There are no
streetlights here, and the sight of the lane being illuminated by the gibbous
moon where there are gaps in the hedgerow trees was atmospheric and almost
surreal. And I realised why I’ve always liked torches (flashlights to
Americans.) There’s something both functional and reassuring about a small bit
of kit that brings light into darkness.
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