NIGHT BREEZES

Home. I switched off the engine and the car shuddered into silence. I sat there for a moment, listening to the trees sighing in the midsummer night-breeze. Cool and gentle, ancient and strong. They sing far better than any of us, those old trees.

The sky was still bright. I pulled my two rucksacks from the boot and then let it fall and click. It flashed orange as I locked it, as always it does. Then, one bag on my back, the other trailing the concrete, I trudged up the road to my flat, looking up at the deep purple clouds and the band of blue fading into the horizon. Everything else was dark - the tree line, the park, the houses, the cars, falling into the deepness of the twilight. My house particularly - no lights to welcome me, no warm greeting, no flickering fireside: the usual empty place.

The key clicked in the lock and the door jammed against the Midweek Chronicle as it scrunched over the welcome mat. Every week. I never read it. I’m certain it’s full of school assemblies, local football teams, and smiling parishioners. There’ll be several pages of solicitors who can help you move, help you divorce or write a will - maybe a section for plumbers, electricians, lost cats, and people looking for that someone with twinkly eyes and a ‘GSOH’.

I flicked on the light and dumped both rucksacks.

Food. I had half a baguette left from yesterday, some butter on the turn, and a pot of orange marmalade. I sighed and reminded myself that I can do better than this. To wash it all down, I’d have a choice of water, the last root beer or whatever was left of the gin. Water then - the root beer suddenly seemed like too much sugar and no-one drinks pure gin, not even the Queen. That was pretty much it. I switched on the grill, and then hacksawed my way through the bread.

I laughed when I realised I’d literally sent myself to bed with nothing but bread and water. Inadvertently, through my own inability to plan, or sort my life out, I had punished myself for my sloppiness. 

I had to do something today that made me look foolish. I had to take the criticism for it, without being able to explain the reason why. It was however, the wisest thing to do, I think. I feel like this happens to me a lot at the moment. It’s kind of annoying. I can’t explain. Don’t ask me.

Also, I keep getting pestered by the feeling that nobody is really listening to me. A few times recently I’ve said something that somebody else has rephrased as though it were new, just a moment later. I don’t think it matters, it just doesn’t do my self-esteem a lot of good - especially as my job is sort of mostly about good communication. Am I any good at that? Sometimes I wonder. I do wonder.

I stared out of the kitchen window, marmalade-toast in hand. The trees waved in the dusk, as the night breezes swept their way over the silver grass. It was too dark to go out there to hear them sing to me. The wood nymphs, the dryads, the elves and the ents would have to dance without me to accompany them tonight. I think the world should understand.

But then, I would, wouldn’t I? I switched off the lights, plunged my messy flat and me into darkness, and went to bed, hoping for a dream in which I am anything but on my own.