Peaceful Night

I turned off my torch to walk in the darkness. The rivers that ran next to the path were glassy in the starlight; I would not swim in them this night. The rare blush of light from the solar lamps along the ground and the blinding searchlight flashes of those returning to their cars was enough for me to make out the shadowy profiles of the bushes around me but not for me find a steady step along the undulating path. The sun-hardened ground rose up too fast to jolt my knees, or sank away from my heels. Stumbling we made our way towards a field of phosphorescence, from which the occasional sound of voices was carried to us on just a breath of a breeze.

Amongst the orange glow of the camping tents, dotted black with the bodies of bugs who found the artificial light more interesting than the stars, we lingered like moths; him and me and you all sitting alone in the dark between the glow, listening.

Poems telling their love in the dark hours between dusk and dawn; half-words whispered, echoed, jumbled together and murmured into the night.

Behind was unearthly music and heavy breathing like that of lovers woven strange sounds that mimic the roar of wind and waves, though the sea itself was only audible in the silence between the recordings.

The night was almost moonless. We lay on our backs on the ground looking for shooting stars whilst we listened to the patterned words rush forwards like the tide.

Half-asleep, perhaps half-dreaming, we didn’t wait for the dew to settle on our cheeks. The peaceful tents gave off light and told of love, but they were not fires and did not warm us. We left.