Twilight there was a ghost at the bottom of the garden.
Sun appears to have given up such a pity we thought,
still it's light could be felt at the top of the drive.
Where us kids collected excitedly not knowing what was below.
Looking down to the bottom of the yard trying to get a look.
Down the hill over the rough outline of a driveway,
a shack stood exhausted and withered leaning south.
Like the figure of an old great aunt, one that just wouldn't die.
The sun still warmed us and gave us courage to stare down.
I couldn't explain exactly how it stared back.
Almost like a silent forbidden conversation.
An exchange of hellos but the response was from winter.
In a generous summer that us kids had harvested in fruit,
bright mornings, aromas seldom smelt and family holidays.
Now we looked down to something that defied seasons
and some wouldn't admit it but we witnessed the real ghost.
The ghost of a small child no more than six years old moving.
Passing along the bare broken picket fence that was losing the war
to meter high grass, fennel and wild ginger at the bottom of the yard.
There it was that little figure of light a child some wanted to embrace.
Drifting across that little back yard so solitary.
Inviting the dusk accelerating it with it's sadness.
Calling on the night as if it were a parent.
We were transfixed bewildered and naive.
We could see the twinkling effect on it's skin.
The white light with tiny sparkling strings of blue.
Beckoning to us and at the same time turning away.
Knowing we could never save it from it's eternal destiny
It's looped existance at the end of these incredible summer days...
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