In the darkness just before dawn, old Silas Olde stopped on the lane to listen.
A screech owl, drowsy now from a night of calling into the dark, remained the only sound he could hear, other than a light wind in the leaves, carrying the scent of rain. With a last look around to see if any distant car lights could be seen approaching, he left the road, silent and practised.
Under the deeper dark amongst the trees, he trod carefully for a few yards until he knew the tall ferns would hide him completely from sight. He flicked on the small pen-light and carried on along the narrow path.
Thirty yards further into the woodland, he left the path, wary for signs of others' passage. None could be seen.
Faint amongst the breeze, he could hear the light sounds of the brook and continued with measured steps towards it. Times had been lean recently, not only for himself on a pension, but for the land too. Cold weather and more rain than winter culling the normal bustle of activities of the woods. A slight improvement yesterday had goaded him to go out and set his traps.
Stronger now, the brook's sound guided him to it.
There! He knealt stiffly beside the trap and shone his light inside.
Empty. The bait had lain untouched since sunset.
Not even a nibble.Straightening, suddenly weary, he pushed his cap back to scratch his head. Things had never been this bad.
This post was last edited by Ais, 11 Jun 2009, 15:56
Work as if you live in the early days of a better nation - Alasdair Gray
Another lightweight
06 Jun 2009, 15:48
