AN AFTERNOON WALK IN THE MIST

I went for a walk this afternoon, just round the village. The air was cold and damp and the winter sun was just sinking into its long sunset arc through the trees behind the houses.

The whole world felt empty. The skate park was deserted, the children's play area was silent. A crow squawked somewhere in the distance. I felt the wet grass through my canvas trainers.

It seems like I'm hurtling towards a decision. I think perhaps, the decision might be hurtling towards me, actually. Either way, I feel suddenly like I need to have a better idea of the shape of my future. Sometimes, you don't get much of an idea of that shape until you step into it.

I walked round behind the deserted cricket pitch. In the summer, men in whites cast long shadows across the soft warm grass. A shout goes up and a ball flies through the air, light applause ripples from the clubhouse. I was the only one there today of course, thrusting cold hands into my jacket. There was no applause.

As I made my way over the road and into the track that leads to the golf course, I noticed the mist. All around, the fog had risen from the wet grass and it was hanging in long straight clouds of white. It was thick in some places, swirling over the path like a blanket. Behind me, the air was clear and crisp. I saw two ghostly figures standing silhouetted in the mist across the grass. They must have seen me just the same, walking through the brushstroke layers of fog, alone. It's funny how the mist seems thicker everywhere else.

You don't get much of an idea of that shape until you step into it, I repeated to myself. It's fair to say that the geometry of my life is not quite what I'd imagined, beyond the mist - it's not how I expected it to be, even a few months ago, perhaps even a few weeks ago. Things swirl and drift and change - not least my tired old heart. And when you spot the changes you probably have to roll with them and do a bit of thinking about how you want it to look when you emerge.

A single star popped into the darkening sky. It was glinting over the church tower, hovering above the quiet, cold evening, a lone point of sparkling light. I looked up at it, imagining how far away it is, how far away it was when it burst into life, and how far away it will always be. It's OK, I thought. This is what astronomers do.