I sat next to a camp fire. Some distant memories of sitting under acacia trees with Masai friends in the Serengeti I think, and seems many years ago. There is something hypnotic about camp fires. That warmth, the crackle of dry wood, the odd spark. The embers glowing deep orange and red and the smell, oh that smell, of different woods and grasses.........magical, comforting, timeless. As the sun sets and dusk descends, in the gloom, I can make out the odd splash and swirl at the waters edge as bass and mullet chase the fry. Crows sound in nearby trees and the odd hoot of tawny owls begin to break the peace and solitude. The moon rising above Arwen, is dimmed by high attitude thin clouds. The river is almost blanketed by darkness now, just the horizon of pine trees on the hill opposite.
Darkness has arrived. Your eyes strain to try and make out shapes but to no avail. As I rest in my bivvy bag on Arwen's port thwart, the sound of water trickling down the beach fills the night. The moon is partially obscured by clouds; the air is still, no breeze, a slight damp chill, so welcome after the intense heat of the day. A train rumbles over the great viaduct at St. Germans, its throbbing diesel beginning to rise in crescendo as it accelerates away.
Stars are filling the black velvet sky. The vast infinity of space stretches above me and evening stars are twinkling, a universe reaching away........or a multiverse, if you believe modern astronomers. I wonder if some life form above me on a planet far in the deepest reaches of space is looking back at me?