There is a mysterious moment when shadows no longer lend their enchantment to an autumn evening, "light thickens" and what had started as a romantic adventure becomes eerily unsettling. Was that, could there have been, a movement in the darkening undergrowth? As you turn, somewhat hurriedly, to return to the safety of home, will you come face to face with a presence, hitherto unseen?
Slowly, uncertainly, a few scraps of a story have started to enter my head. Will they form a part of The Wycoller Scarecrow? Probably, I don't know, but it's good to feel that something is on the move again. A mind full of shifting shadows which just might resolve themselves into a formed narrative. I hope so.