Shattered Blue

One of those beautiful days where you can barely resist the urge to run through it, through the sun filtering through the branches, through the warm still air.

It was a day to be alone. To enjoy one’s own company.

Thus it was gently jolted out of my daydream of a peaceful afternoon when I found someone in my spot. I lived in the country, surrounded by farmland but near the back of my family’s farm stretched acres of woodland. My haven. A green river snaked its way through it and there wasn’t one afternoon where I did not hear a chorus of birdsong from the flighty inhabitants of the wood.

But now my birds were silenced and the heavy human stomping and blundering and cursing his way towards my spot would give any timid creature cause to flight.

He was a stocky individual and his noises easily disguised my subtle passage. I ducked behind a tree when he ripped a fallen branch out of his path. His shoulders were broad and his anger was evident in his bunched muscles and stiff bearing. He looked like a hungry lion or a bull elephant who has just found that a jackal sneaked up on him without his knowledge.

He was interesting. I continued to follow him watching as his shoulders gently began to sink and relax and how he paid more attention to his beautiful surroundings. I wanted to walk next to him and tell him that the bird he saw flit across the canopy was a Piet-my-vrou, and that its nickname was much better than its real name. I wanted to tell him that he should be careful about looking under rocks like that, and then I stopped fantasizing as slight anger caught me in mid step.

He had reached my spot. At least one of them but this was still a favourite haunt of mine. Just on the borders of the cool lapping river, nearly hidden by a large overhanging willow, was a sun bleached quilt snuggled in-between the tree’s roots. From its branches I had strung broken glass left here by rogue teenagers years ago. Pretty Guinea fowl feathers and others I could not name had been tied up with the glass. I saw the boy move towards it in his heavy way and I was very tempted to jump out and tell him to stay away.

But this wasn’t my land; it was shared by three adjoining farms and I wondered again who he was, from whose farm he hailed and if he did then why had I not seem him before?
He tentatively touched one of the hanging glass strings sending it spinning causing green and brown light to dance around him. I was close enough to merely whisper at him to go away and he would hear me. But I was not yet willing to give up my hiding place and so I continued to watch.

He turned his head and bent down and I caught a glimpse of square features, with no finesse or beauty but his eyes drew me; they were a fractured sky blue.

He straightened up, with a grimy paper back in his hand. It was my book with those detailed and vibrant illustrations of birds and flora. And in it I had added my own sketches of birds I had made up. But he did not page through the book; he merely lifted the front flap and read my neatly stencilled name on the inside.

He carefully dropped the book down and I heard him sigh and sit down on my quilt and while he was busy rolling up his pants’ legs I began to scramble up the tree he sat under, my tanned bare limbs wiry, my fingers and toes nimble.

I sat down on the thickest most horizontal branch I could find, propping up my feet on an opposite making sure my legs did not dangle and give me away.

I peered down at him through a myriad of green and brown as he edged towards the lapping water and dipped his legs in until his knees. His feet were pale; maybe he was from the city?

It was hard to stay angry in such beautiful weather and I was soon dozing off and before I knew it one propped foot slipped scattering loose bark that fluttered downwards. Blue eyes swam up trying to discern the cause of the crackling sound. I ducked my head and fumbled my way backwards, my foot searching niches but my impatience led to only the discovery of thin air at the same moment I shifted all my weight to that same foot. I slipped down against the trunk the rest of the way and not caring that my scratched skin burned and throbbed I silently made my way towards the cover of a thick cloister of trees and bushes. I was still walking backwards and saw him stand up and peer up at the branches. I managed to duck behind the cover of greenery when I saw his head swivel towards me.

“Who’s there?” his voice was surprisingly clear, like cool running water.

But I was already running, dodging, diving and dipping my way through the forest I knew so well and I left my excited laughter behind.



He bent down to pick up the bird book again and read the owner’s name out loud to himself, “Josephine Smit.” He chuckled and ran blunt fingers through thick dark hair. He looked around at the peaceful hideout with the girl’s laughter still in his ears. He smiled and left the chocolate bar he had been hoarding the entire afternoon, under the book before beginning his way back.