It is Autumn. Deciduous trees create a thick maze of woodland as their sprawling limbs guard the darkness. The interwoven trail amongst the staunch sapling soldiers becomes a bed for the tears cried by the now naked branches. A dense canopy of utter blackness hangs overhead, making the never ending maze seem diminutive. As the full moon shies away, the forest interior becoming no darker than a closed coffin.

Hush, the crackle of the bomb fire cannot block out the whimpers and whistles that ghost through the trees, nor the devious howls and snaps, cracks and crunches of rural ground beneath the feet of unmerciful, blood-driven canines. Using the woods as their playground, nothing is safe from the swift silhouettes that swish past the camp site in their games of hide-and-go-seek. The strong dog-like odour lingers around the clearing far longer than the creatures themselves, threatening any unknown visitors that they won’t remain unaccompanied for long. The thud of another log being tossed on the bonfire breaks the inclosed silence and distance cries of animals amidst the trees. A deafening silence that is almost ironic, as it is realised: no people, no civilisation and no company can be heard of, or even reached- yet the feeling of being alone continues to cease in existence.

It is midnight. A sudden breeze storming amongst the trees send shivers down the spine of the tents staunch frame. Its ropes clenching the metal pegs driven far into the crunchy yet firm surface beneath, like anchors clenching to a prisoners ankles. The rippling waterproof cloth drapes the outline of a cosy teepee shelter, where the forgotten flashlights sits upon the blue inflated sleeping mattress inside, blinking in tiredness as it slowly loses its light. The flimsy fabric door sits unzipped and unnoticed, while takes of collected branches and logs lay beyond, ready to be the next victim to flames that rise boldly against the black canvas sky.

Look. Red, yellow and orange rays leap and twirl in the hot swirling air, bringing the spirits of the woods to life.The glowing embers show phantom shadows parading between the barrier of trees that surround the circular, isolated camping spot, as if they were serenading the birth of there illuminated creator. Next to the glowing flames sits a foldaway table with: the old billy, the gas cooker, the faithful camping mug, a dirty plate and of coarse the aggressively opened packet of delectable marsh-mellows, ready to be stabbed onto the end of a pointy stick and indulged into the flaming heat.

All of a sudden an oncoming blanket of crawling fog begins to settle around and above you and your unaccompanied campsite, like a blanket covering a sleepy child in the late hours of the night. Feel the warmth of the fire embers slowly fade away from your skin, as only dwindled ashes of orange and red poke out from the dense cloak of gloom. Feel the rusty camp chairs cushion beneath your body. Smell the forest pine intertwine with the lingering smoke as your eyes watch the shadows of the woods slowly shy away, leaving you at peace, you are alone once again.