4: Reflections

You must think that I am hopelessly mundane. You are probably right but my decisions at that time were coloured by recent and semi distant events.

In similar circumstances the previous weekend, I had decided to go for a walk. No such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing, I told myself as I put on my waterproof coat and a hat. I had locked up the house, determined which way the wind was blowing and set off walking in that direction. To begin with, I walked through streets nearly indistinguishable from my own. The rain had smeared the ink on a cardboard sign that read "Free to a good home" as it sagged against a saturated armchair on the pavement on the next estate. The houses became sparser and larger as I reached the outskirts of town. A dog walker hunched against the rain, willing her pet to answer the call of nature so that she could get back to the dry. I made an expression that I hoped would say a friendly "we must be mad!". She replied with a scowl that asked "do I know you, freak?"

I like to think that my face has developed a wide vocabulary to compensate for my bad conversation skills so this was a concern. As evening approached, the clouds had thinned, then all but vanished and the sun beamed down. As I sweltered, I wondered what would be suitable clothes for a typical day in Britain. I was beyond the town border now so the pavement had run out and the rain had settled in big, glinting puddles on the uneven road. The sight of my reflection in one made me pause. I had only one mirror which was situated in the spare bedroom. I realised, with a jolt, that it must be at least six months since I had set foot in there. The face in the puddle was older and more serious than I would have liked. I stomped at the edge of the water sending ripples across the reflection as if I could erase it like drawing the bar across an Etch-a-Sketch. The ripples subsided but the freak was still there looking back at me.

I left the road to follow a footpath that led through a landscape of fallen trees, their roots having been insidiously gnawed at by the pools of black water that lurked nearby. The trunks had been bleached by the sun and I had the impression of walking through a graveyard of prehistoric bones.

I strayed further and was surprised to find myself surrounded by the remains of antiquated vehicles. I tried to imagine the proud owner of the gleaming new car to which a battered and rusting car wing had once belonged and wondered where they were now and how much the car featured in their memories.

For a moment, I thought I sensed something move nearby and I turned instinctively. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust and for my brain to register that what had caught my attention was likely the reflection of a bird in a discarded windscreen that lay close by as it had passed over. If it was anything like the rest of the scraps then it must have been at least fifty years old yet the reflection seemed as clear as any and though the reflected scene was also woodland I couldn't reconcile it with any of my surroundings. It was like looking through a portal to a slightly shifted version of this world.

Though the light was beginning to ebb away, I kept walking, exhilarated by the solitude of this place. The truth is that I'd had plenty of solitude in the last sixteen months, most of which I had spent in lockdown at home for the Covid pandemic, but there is something different about the tranquility that comes from leaving roads and curious glances far behind. As the sun set, I was glad to see a full moon rising. My eyes adjusted to the reduced light though I needed to stay on the path to see enough to continue.

The day was beginning to catch up with me now. I was tired and hungry so I sat on the slope of a dip in the landscape and contemplated the moon reflecting from the pond at its base. Loneliness crept up on me after all. Tears pricked my eyes and my face crumpled with silent sobbing until I drifted into sleep.

Next: 5. The Dark