Midsummer Stillness

Walking back from Em's last night. That hour before midnight, and everything is still, laced through with some midsummer strangeness. There is a watchfulness in the dark alleys that lead to the dead-end cluster of back gardens, and the groups of garages, set back from the road in their own country, display their empty forecourts with an aggressive equanimity. Breathe in and taste the odd serenity, the sky with lat traces of the day - stars in the velvet blue, and I think, in Scotland now, it would be far lighter yet. I take a right angle of a road I have not taken before, the light cast from lamps is darker here, more trees, and the rubbish bins frequently present obstacles. As I descend into this strange road of angled-shadows, it begins to adopt all the textures of a dream, of something being strange, when nothing actually is. The tipping point of oddness. The road cuts sharp to my right, and I recognise a familiar road and the curve that takes me back home.