On the way to the woods I spotted the furry buds of a magnolia. The end of one branch had snapped, leaving a silky prong on the pavement. I picked it up and carried it with me. The birds were loud as I went through the gate and up the mulchy path. I don’t know many calls, but I could recognize the screeches of the parakeets, hidden in the trees despite the brightness of their feathers.
I took the path I usually take, away from the main road. Ahead, I could see yellow sky bright through the bars of the trees; the sun, starting to drop. I walked towards that pricking light. It backed everything, making the air around me foggy in contrast, as if smoke were hanging low around my ankles when it was only the day disappearing. There were fallen trees across the path. I picked up pine cones to light the fire back home and when I looked up the sky through the trees was red.
I came through the pines to the stand of silver birch. The temperature dropped until my breath fogged my glasses. The newt pond had frozen over. I squelched through thick mud, aiming for the exit as night came on. A woman with a dog called good afternoon and I went back out, to the street lamps and the lit up windows. The birds had quietened while I’d been in the woods. I went home and put my magnolia buds in a jam jar on the kitchen window.
Bonnie Radcliffe 