The best time of the day

by Liz

I love this time of day. It is my time. Every evening I walk down the remote lane at the back of the village. During the day it is a local cut through for the tractors hopping from farm to farm. This evening, it is just me; dusk is falling and the birds are calling out their good nights to each other. I can hear the faint sound of cows snorting and scuffling in the barns that line the lane. Heavy snorts of breath letting their neighbours know they are there. My route is the same every night – takes the same turnings past the same wisened trees that hover over the lane, offering sporadic havens of shade from the summer sun. The only thing that changes in this scene are the colours.

The summer has been a hot one so far. Temperatures have been reaching all-time highs and pounding the colour from the usually luscious fields. I pause by a bar gate to breathe in the view which spreads out over three farms land. The day had been busy so the tranquil evening brought a welcome relief. I could always rely on nature to settle me down. This view had helped me through some tricky times – helped me reach painful decisions and kept me rational when I had been on the verge of raging.

Looking back down the lane, I can see the village over the hedgerows. Inhabitants will be settling down for the evening; regulars heading to the pub; parents bathing children; my own partner would be pottering round the kitchen getting dinner ready for my return – frozen schnitzel tonight. I feel a knot in my guts in anticipation of the indigestion. I can hear the awful strains of trumpet from the band of cadets that march around the school playground after hours to the yells of their leader.

It was a quaint, museum like place to live. If it was a more affluent area it was be a tourist hotspot but there was not even that going for it. I moved here 10 years ago. It was a perfect bolt hole from the city which had battered me relentlessly for most of my working life.

Despite the predictability of the scene, tonight was different. Tonight was the night I knew everything would change. It had taken a summer of evening walks, of ruminating and contemplating. Was I ready to rock the boat? To turn my life – our lives – upsidedown? I breathed in deeply and gave a quiet thanks to the tranquility of nature. It somehow strengthened my resolve as I turned away from the gate and headed back down the lane. Back towards the village and home. Arriving at the front door of our cottage, I performed the usual routine of kicking off my boots, hanging up my keys and slipping on a pair of moccasins. Pausing by the mirror, I searched my reflection for encouragement and headed into the kitchen where Mark was setting the table.

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