We ran out of gas and had long evenings outside, cooking on fire. The stream was quiet, the birds were quiet, the world so very green and the air thickly sunk. We thought we could see the plants vibrate and wondered if the windows would be jungle-dark when we woke and we’d have to slash through creepers to get out.

DragonsThey were grubby happy smoke dusks, watching the ash light and embers.

Time became fire time, waiting for water to boil, sausages to burst, courgettes to char, we baked a cake on the grille with blackcurrrants and raspberries pushed in and burst juicy. In the mornings mist-dissolved-light fizzed round the bean towers, we made coffee in the storm kettle and camp stove porridge.

If we hadn’t run out of gas would we have seen the dragons growing?

 

 

 

 

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