Writer Between Worlds

Night was falling in the coppice-wood,

each strand of light threadbare and bluish

thinned out into mystery,

the path darkened by shadows.

The clock in the church tower struck

the hour of the owls,

something shrieked in the distance

and a human shape approached on a bike.

I clutched my umbrella with sweaty palms,

my pulse quickened –

fear

terror

excitement

A frightening moment all my own –

seductive, scary –

a flirt with danger,

an out-of-body experience,

a de-individuation –

dilating, not shrinking –

expecting to turn into a leaf or a slug to escape it all

or to simply sit still and dissolve into a breath or a breeze.

But then there you were:

my phone lighting up with your number

asking if I was OK;

the man on the bike pedaled on

and I was left alone to settle into the peace

and the exhilaration.