My old friend.
I often watch her as she sits beside me.


Sometimes she sleeps and sometimes she walks, but mostly, she watches with me.
She enjoys the twilight, when the gentle wings of starlings beat the warm air in the rapture before dusk.

 

She is still, waiting for the foraging of the night creatures as they snuffle through twig and earth. How I love her smile when she sees them.


The pitter-patter of a light shower falls in the forest and only then does she stir to look upwards with a smile at the darkening sky.


The hoot of an owl.
The bay of distant cattle.
She listens. And I watch over her. Today she stays with me longer than before.


Night passes. Day dawns.


She wakes with stretching arms and I stretch too, reaching for the warming sunlight.
Someone new has come. He wears a coat, bright and yellow, like sunshine, and he is standing over my friend. He is waiting.


She looks at him and smiles as he points at the big machines in the fields.

They are waiting too.


She points at me, pats the ground, and then the man leaves.

The sun circles the sky and she sleeps again now, lulled by the breeze and the faraway singing of church bells. She stays longer still.


Yellow turns to amber. Amber to gold as the sun starts to dip, and now she wakes again. The man has come back and points to the machines once more.


My old friend smiles and pats the ground beside me. I can hear them talking now as the light begins to fade once more. They are nodding to each other, shaking hands.

 

The sky is dark and the stars are bright jewels nestling in the velvety depths of another night. She is asleep now but he is watching the stars with me. He is listening too.


The trickle of timeless waters.
The whispering of tiny leaves.
Night passes. Day dawns.


She wakes and rubs her eyes. He is smiling now, a peaceful smile. She smiles back and points to the machines. He nods and they both stand up, looking at me.


The machines are leaving now and so are my friends. But before she leaves, she pats my bark and says,


'When your heart is in the country, you'll never let it go. Thank you for showing him.'

 

The wind sighs through my branches and I watch her leave. I'll see her again tomorrow.

 

Back to Writing