Time Warp

I was foraging wild garlic: to begin with. Down by the babbling brook, with the mist descending. Birds flittered amongst the trees, their melodic song filling the air, punctuated by the occasional cawing of a crow or cooing of a pigeon.

Foraging completed, the sun was breaking through the mist, and it felt warm on my back. I climbed up to the bench, glancing across to the field behind as I heard something thrashing around in the scrub. Probably a Muntjac, I mused. The dense thicket not only provided habitat for a wide variety of wildlife, but it was a wonderful deterrent for any Homo Sapiens with thoughts to intrude. It was not always like this, I thought. I’m sure it was once an open field in my primary school days when we did cross-country here.

I sat on the bench and closed my eyes, letting the gentle heat seep into my skin, the soft hum of summer filling the garden around me. Birds flitted between the branches of the old ash tree, still singing a merry chorus.

Then, faintly at first, I heard it — the distant sound of children’s footsteps pounding earth, growing louder. Cheers and clapping floated through the air. Somebody was doing something in the field further on. Obviously.

It got louder and louder, disturbing my heliotherapy session. I opened my eyes, and the thicket had gone. Instead, running across the field beyond the garden, was a small, determined figure in a long blue shirt – way too long – with a white and golden diagonal stripe across it, blue shorts and muddy legs and knees. It took me a few seconds before I realised it was me, or rather, the me I once was no older than about ten, with a look of extreme concentration on my face, not noticing the me sat here on the bench. A cross-country run. I watched bemused as, along with lots of other preadolescent girls, my younger self ran round the field until I, the other me that is, was out of sight.

The scene shimmered, the sounds and sights slowly fading, until I was once again alone in the garden, the sun still warm on my face and my eyes closed, wondering if I’d just nodded off and had the strangest dream. Ever. Maybe I wouldn’t mention this to anyone. They’d think I’d lost the plot, I reflected. Maybe I had!