The woods were quiet that morning, the way I like them. A dull day with a fine drizzle of rain which couldn’t gather the energy to fall any faster or heavier. Fine by me, it matched my own mood, content to amble along thinking random thoughts – upcoming activities I needed to prepare for, things about the house which needed doing, the book I was reading, what the kids were up to this weekend – in no hurry to go faster either.
Head down, avoiding the worst of the mud, I startled when out of the corner of my I saw a flash. I peered through the trees, waiting to see if it came again.
Another, brighter this time. I frowned. This was no hard-edged white beam like a torch flash, which in any case would have been lost even in this meagre daylight.
Another came. I blinked. The flash was more diffused, gleaming blue and silver, glistening particles loitering in the air for a microsecond before dissipating in an afterglow of their own.
There was no noise. I hesitated. Run the other way, or explore? Before I could change my mind I stepped gingerly off the path, between the browning stems of bracken, picking my way across small fallen logs and lifting my feet to avoid grasping trailing brambles. As I walked, another flash came. This time accompanied by a muted ‘Yay’ – a human sound. No aliens then. Disappointment collided with relief in my fluttering stomach.
Another flash, from behind a wide ancient beech. I kept on, reassured by that soft human ‘Yay’ which now became a giggle.
Rounding the beech, I stared, and laughed. Two kids, maybe 12 years old, stared up at me, guiltily.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, made bold by their fright.
‘Fireworks, miss,’ one said, as if I was his teacher.
‘Yeah,’ said the other. ‘Leftovers from the silent display his parents had.’ He grinned up at me. ‘Pretty, aren’t they?’
I had to agree, as I watched them set the rest off, clapping my delight.
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