There is a chill in the air. It crackles, like a live wire.
A boy runs into our yard, his bright hair all over the place. I am immediately on my guard; who is he, and where has he come from? There are no houses surrounding mine. I chose it for that reason.
The wind suddenly lifts and a shiver runs down my back.
I can feel Him, His presence a given. The dog has stilled and the corners of my eyes crinkle as I take in the little boy, with khaki pants and a little boys blazer on.
Hi, he says, I'm sorry to bother you.
And then he is still, his attention drawn to the back of my right ear. The distance.
And I can feel Him there too.
What are you doing here, I ask the little boy with the crazy curls. All the while I'm closing ranks with the little guy, in a defensive mother pose.
He has never hurt me, but I'm not taking any chances.
By the time I have reached him, the little boy is smiling at me and nodding at the distance. I am uneasy, the unkown is prevalent, and I feel like there's a private joke I'm missing.
What's your name, I ask mr crazy curls.
He stops for a second, as if listening to someone speaking to him, although there is silence, nods, and answers me rapidfire.
"Angus. My mother left me here. She was angry."
And I am livid. He cannot be more than six years old. What kind of mother does that?
"But E said not to worry, that you would help me, that you are a kind lady."
And I'm immediately overwhelmed. A tear trickles down my face, and I only realise I am crying when I brush my cheek to push errant hair back and it is wet.
The sky is azure, memories knock in the distance. I still, searching for that elusive answer.
You can see him, I say to Angus. What does he look like?
For in all the years I've known Him to be in my life, I have never seen Him.
He's very tall, like verry tall, replies Angus.
And I cannot help but smile. When you are that little, anything higher than you must be very tall.
"He says to say to you that he is six foot two intees."
And I giggle. I'm a rain splatter on a sunny day. Two intees? Oh bless. And I have a sudden, violent urge to belong to Angus.
He says to say you look like a rainbow too, Angus says and smiles.
I am greedy and want more information. A wasp buzzes past, startling the still that has become the norm when He is around. Is He gone? But no, Angus continues to relate information to me, from Him, obviously just repeating what he's being told.
He has green eyes and brown hair and a crooked nose, Angus giggles.
"But he has, most of all, something for you."
And I can no longer resist, whirling around as if I expect to see Him.
But there is nothing, no one.
Do you want to come in, I ask Angus. Where do you live?
He does not know his address but has his phone number memorised. Good boy.
As I give Angus a cookie and a glass of milk, my mind rattles trying to prioritise recoveries, investigations and this irrational urge to set up camp in my front yard.
With summer sun browning my shoulders as I, once again, take up my post.
