The once lush beautiful trees, now grey, brittle and bare rattle in the wind. Cold. Regardless of the temperature, they look cold. It's dark, and my playground outside that I know so well, suddenly seems spooky. Behind me, the house is glowing with light and warmth. The smell of supper wafts out through the door to my nose. Making it all the more tempting to run back inside where it's safe.
If I can just make it to the barn. It's not that far. Around the house, past the scary woods full of shadows and noises. The bare tree branches reach out for me like skeleton fingers. But everyone is waiting for me, I have to go.
The barn is warm and glowing with light. It smells not of my supper, but of theirs. My company inside is waiting for me. The old horse with less patience than the others. He lets me know I'm late. I clean the beds, feed them supper and make sure all the animals are tucked in cosy for the night. I like it in the barn. If only my supper were in here I wouldn't have to run back into the dark, past those scary trees.
Some 20 years later, as I get home from work, our house glows warmly in the dark. Spooky shadows fill the yard. The bare brittle trees rattle in the wind. My adult mind knows nothing lurks in the woods, but I run anyway.