There were two women outside the supermarket today. One kept
opening her mouth and making strange noises, while the other watched her
intently and nodded now and then. I think they must have had some other-worldly
origin. Europe, I expect.
* * *
There’s a heavy fog descending on The Shire tonight. The
high land on the far side of the valley was just about visible when I set out
for my walk, but it had disappeared by the time I got back. Away from the pub
and the houses, there was only still, clammy, vaporous air and darkness. I like
that.
And there was a cock pheasant cackling unseen in a field on
the east side of Mill Lane.
That’s the side where the land climbs to the haunted copse on the rise in Church Lane. (I
swear there’s something in there. It
spooked me good and proper one night.) What I found odd was that several other
pheasants appeared to be answering it from down by the river, but then I
realised that the sound was softer and appeared to echo the original call
exactly. Presumably, that’s what it was: an echo. So what was it echoing from?
The mist? I never knew that sound could echo from mist. Did you?
And somebody came out of the Lady B’s house to drop
something into a wheelie bin just as I was approaching. I was singing at the
time, so I stopped. Wouldn’t want to give the place a bad reputation.
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