In My Shoes

It is an amazing feeling, standing out under the trees at night.  Stand still, very still, for long enough, you start to feel invisible. As if you’ve melted into the dark. When you breathe, it breathes with you.. and you are careful to breathe very, softly, very slowly, mouth slightly open.. that way your breathing doesn’t mess with your hearing..

You are just ears and eyes and shadow, waiting. You see things as never before. An Agapanthus that you passed several times today and never noticed, looms magical and luminous before you, its blossoms glowing like crystals on a chandelier. You stare in wonder, trying to figure out what is causing this transformation. Is it filtered moonlight? Is it dew? Did it perhaps rain earlier..?

The birds start. Gently ease the safety off and point the barrel at the noise.. Ready – steady – the chatter dies down. You wait. It feels as if the whole night is waiting. The silence is oppressive. Lightening in the distance, a bit of thunder… The hush before the storm. The odd cricket starts, and is quickly silenced, like a child in church. You bless your ugly old shoes, the ones that are completely soundless outdoors and only just whisper indoors..

Will they come tonight? 

You know they are coming back to fetch the looted copper pipes they stole last week, and dropped about 40 paces from where you are standing now, when you fired  at a noise more sensed than heard... You never saw them. You only found the flattened grass, where they had lain,  hidden. Your shot must have sounded terrifying at such a close range. The man who came to look, reckoned there were three or four of them…

Ten minutes, fifteen. There is no wind and the mosquitoes are eating you alive. Apparently, you’re off the hook this time. Click the safety on. Careful to stay in the shadows, you pad silently back to the house, where the dogs lie trembling, every bit as tense as you are. They hate it when you go out at night like this…

It may be over, but the feeling that something is off, not quite right, persists. You remember that single shot you heard two years ago, that you called in. That shot, that had come from the house of a woman in the next road, had been the sound of her dying.. Shot through her window as she lay sleeping. You didn't know her. They said it was an accident, that the thief tripped, hadn't meant to kill her. You don’t want to think about it, but you can’t forget it either. That night your dogs had been restless too, and you had been listening in the dark, just as you were tonight…

You won’t be taking that joyous silvery moonlit swim tonight.. nor will you be getting much sleep… Not tonight.