I have never been afraid of the dark. Even as a child it enfolded me like a soft blanket; as cocooned in the comfort of my warm bed, I gazed at shadowy objects round the room - their lines blurred by the coming of night.
On those damp Autumn evenings, when the dwindling sun cast thin lines of palest rose to bleed into deepening clouds; and shadows lengthened as the sky turned to indigo; we could be found in the garden, torch in hand, playing wild games of 1,2,3 home.... The excitement intensified by the threat of being caught in a sudden blinding beam of torchlight. With soft tread, and hearts in mouths, we would creep from deep shadow to deep shadow; smothering nervous giggles as we inched our way past the nominated torch bearer before committing to that final mad dash towards the tree designated 'home'.
Even now, if I wake tangled in sheets, befuddled by unremembered dreams, it is not a familiar circle of lamplight I seek; rather it is the stillness of the dark house and gentle sound of crickets singing to the moon. Yet lately, a whisper of dark shadow on light box screen has shaken my trust in the benevolence of darkness... leading me perhaps to seek out those small pools of soft light that comfort and protect; keeping small daemons at bay.
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