A clear dry night with a 3/4 moon, time for a spin. I decide to put the light on my bonce tonight. No attempts at writing rhymes this time. Owls hoot and distant ducks laugh as I head out of the village and across the fields. Im ready for the rabbits, except as Im following them with my sight, now my lamp follows too, and one poor chap doesnt know which way to run, so he runs ahead of me darting left and right, until I look away so he can escape the glare and head for the bushes. The bluish light flattens colours and depth, and as its now just above my eyes the shadows are invisible from my viewpoint, so every bump and rut blends into a near monochrome landscape, only the grass retains much colour, but with the heavy dew even that reflects silvery white as light falls on it, only my tracks show a dark line behind me. As I near the woods a fog sits between the grass and the leaves above, the cold still air has rolled down to the edges at the foot of the hill, and now I only have dark shapes looming up from the white. The showground is dotted with cross-country obstacles and jumps, and as the silhouettes emerge they take on forms of familiar things from my imagination. A stretched headless bull turns into a log across four posts, a sleeping stegosaurus is just a big pile of earth with lumps on top, a low slung custom car with a chopped roof is just a wooden box with some hedging in front and behind. I catch a hint of colour and look down to see bits of bright orange in the grass everywhere. Shattered fluorescent Clay Pigeons litter ground, crunching under my tyres. I turn uphill create my own fog as I start to puff, and plough through dripping wet grass, and realise that my choice of footwear wasnt the best as they instantly soak up the water. The cold dense air seeps into the gaps in my clothing as I speed up and blast along the flat tracks at the top before I turn back toward the village. I can see the church spire poking up through the mist between the treetops, the moon outlining the shape and adding a layer of silvery light of its own across the top of the layer of fog. Just one surprise left for me - and the dog-walker and the two sets of reflective eyes of his furry friends as I approach at speed. I wonder if he has his bags with him, or is he the secret dog fouling owner responsible for those errant lumps I see so often... Back home for tea and dinner.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 21:08:47 +0000
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