The first sun of the afternoon scraped through the remaining rain. In Africa it signs a monkeys’ wedding. Those strange days of rain and sun in a contest. When the light wins, it is the primates’ betrothal. I had been reading one of those books you can’t put down but have to, every now and then, to catch your breath. You can feel something sinister in the air. This was not my usual diet but somehow the book review had said something that appealed and, within days, it came through the post. It was a thriller: end of life as we know it. Close by, looking out, the wind had begun to pick up the grass, catching a glistening, and a magpie had waddled into view. It walked like it was wearing trousers that were too big. I had marvelled how it was able to stop and turn its head onto its back and with its beak, have a good old scratch. If my head were that dexterous, I thought, the door frame would quickly become redundant. In my reverie of alternative backscratchers, the breeze had changed and gusts had ended the peace of the afternoon. The noise filled the moment. The eerie feeling of the story a little scary. Eyes wide shut – I find this the most difficult to bear – because something had happened to the children, lost in the woods.
© Rick Frame