379. the kissing gate.

set the clock for o-two hundred wake, dress, drive for 30 minutes on empty roads the blink blink of the car alarm loud in the blackness: through the woods around the lake ten miles nearly shit myself with the things I saw or thought I saw – the things I heard or thought I heard and I’m a grown man it’s not often I’m scared shitless these days the woods an ancient place with no streetlights, the water lapping black with no moon, no torch I can only make out the sandy path around the lake if I look straight ahead – look down & the path disappears water either side then click clack through the kissing gate – the car’s still here blink blink a cigarette and home to bed, jeez, I feel alive