March 7th

I am only real,

When the headlights burn my back,

Long shadow walking.

 

Was walking back from the station late last night, bar a timid moon peeking through the thin cloud, the route to Greenfield from the station passes down a particularly dark lane. Walking this route late at night, I feel invisible, I disappear with my music in the darkness. Or if I have no music, I listen for tawny owls, the distant barking of dogs, or freight trains, unbuffered, rattling onwards.

I only exist when an approaching car blinds me or when a car drives past me from behind. As cars approach, I observe my shadow, racing and striding ahead of me, a hundred metres long. Then as the vehicles pass, I disappear, become invisible again.