Secret Footfalls

There was no 'early summer', just long weeks of wind and dreary rain. The plants loved it, of course, and are tall and lush. There is no shortage of wildlife, but this year is all about slugs and snails and small flies. Finally, we hit a spell of hot weather and at 8pm it was still hot. I walked down the hedges looking for butterflies. The lateness of the heat has pressed their seasons together so that the ringlets and the commas and the red admirals share the air. But the smaller moths and skippers predominate. The big dragonflies are absent, but the damselflies shatter the air. Insects stand above the bushes like thunderheads.

As I walk along the hedge, I hear rustling. I pause. It stops. I move. Rustling. I stop. Silence. So it was all the way down the hedge. I dropped down, expecting to see a young fox stalking me for fun, or a protective muntjac doe. Nothing showed itself. I carried on and the rustling continued. Whatever it was followed me down the hedge and all the way back to the house. It followed me inside the hedge, across the solid divide of the half-way fence. Which was wierd. The Night Planted Orchard is home to some frightening apparitions and this one suddenly gave me the chills. It followed me into the part-hedge which sits a little way in front of the fence, where any tiny feet would be visible. I stroked the bush. My hand was followed by tiny amber beetles, small moths and other tiny winged creatures including the tiny pure white cruxifix moths which haunt the July nights. My shadow had perhaps disturbed the hot, resting insects in the bushes, and they were in such numbers that perhaps they rustled the trees like a small animal.

Or perhaps there is a ghost in the orchard after all.