A walk in the woods

By Janet Baldey

I am happy, I suppose, or perhaps ‘content’ is the better word.  I have a comfortable home and enough money to meet my needs, but something is missing, and I know very well what it is.  I have no sense of belonging. I float through life without touching or being touched, so that, although it is Marcus who died, sometimes I feel I am the ghost. But, unlike Marcus, I exist and as I do not believe in the afterlife, my outlook is barren.

         All the above was the truth as I saw it yesterday, but today, something has happened that I can’t explain.  Nor do I want to, for that would destroy the kindling of hope that has fanned a spark of life in me.

This morning, I took my dog Casper for a walk in the woods.  Our routine doesn’t vary, a fact that Caspar doesn’t seem to mind.  Morning and evening, we walk down the road leading to the copse other people call a wood.   It is late autumn and for the last few weeks the weather has been foul, raining incessantly day after day, sometimes so heavily a grey sheet covers the windowpane.  Today was no exception and when I reached the wood rain was streaming off my waterproof.  Splashing through the mud, Casper bounded ahead while I followed more slowly, for fear of slipping.  The weather had silenced the birds and all I heard was the drip of raindrops falling from sodden leaves and the squelch of saturated earth.   The usual dog walkers weren’t around which didn’t surprise me.  Given the choice, I would be at home, warm and dry while the elements did their worst, but I don’t have a garden, so I had no choice.  Except one, I could cut the walk short.  This, I decided to do and called for Casper who had disappeared.  I called again but no dog.  I think I must explain at this point, that Caspar is an obedient animal, or rather he realises that a reward follows obedience, so I was surprised, but not alarmed.  He’d probably caught the smell of fox which always wipes his mind, so I continued my usual route, all the while looking out for him.   As I did, I noticed the absence of colour, the hawthorn berries, normally bright, were dulled by a film of mildew as were the hips of the wild rose while the lazy fronds of Queen Anne’s Lace had collapsed and were lying bedraggled in the mud.  All this affected my spirits, so much so that when I reached the wood’s boundary and entered an area of parkland, I was glad to be free of its oppressive atmosphere.

At almost the same time as I emerged, another figure appeared from a track on the opposite side of the park.   It seemed another walker had braved the rain.  I looked for the dog for it would be odd, not to say ominous, for anyone to be out without a pet in these conditions.  Sure enough, I saw the tip of a tail whisking thigh high just above the grass, and I relaxed.  But not for long.   They drew nearer and as my eyesight focussed, I stopped abruptly, shocked.  The tail was Casper’s.  Then following on, as sudden as a lightning strike, came another shock.  The walker was Marcus.  I was immediately sure of it.  I recognised his odd, shuffling gait, the stigmata of his disease.  I recognised his ancient green anorak that he insisted on wearing although it was both tattered and torn.  I recognised so many things that had been burned into my psyche through the years.  Yet, it couldn’t be!  I must be dreaming.  I pushed back my hood, lifted my head and felt the icy rain freeze my face.  I pulled at my hair and ground my nails into my hands and felt the pain of consciousness.  Then I looked again, and nothing had changed.  Marcus was stumbling towards me with a delighted Casper frisking about his heels.  As I stared he looked up and a thrill ran through me.  His eyes, which towards the end had been dull and listless, were bright and alive.  The eyes of a young man in an old man’s face.  His eyes as they had been when we’d first met.  He smiled, then turned and disappeared into the wood.  My heart hammering, I ran to where I’d last seen him.  As I pushed my way through the bushes, I came across a cottage.  A cottage, with roses round the door.  Our cottage!  The one we’d made our home.  As I stared, Marcus appeared at a window and beckoned for me to join him.  But, for some unknown reason, I hesitated, and immediately a look of abject disappointment clouded his face and his image started to fade, together with that of our cottage.  Immediately, I changed my mind, but it was too late and I was left behind, again.

I lick my lips, they feel cold and dry and taste of winter.   I regret many things in my life, but none more than that moment of hesitation.  Except, now I am left with a feeling of hope that won’t leave me.   For this reason, tomorrow, and the next day and the next, I will return and who knows, I might find him again.

Copyright Janet Baldey