The Horse Stable

‘Live in the moment’ they say but it's hard on a winter's afternoon, inside, warm in a comfortable chair when the mind drifts, wanders off to find a park somewhere at the end of a childhood street. Dragonflies patrolling the hot, pine scented air and sunk in the shade, an abandoned stable thick in spider webs and behind a half door, a long, dark, menacing silence. I never went in, held back by tales of ghosts and the fear that something lingered there who did not like to be disturbed by the trespass of small boys. I would sometimes throw a stone into its dark reaches and listen for a stir or the sound of movement or call out - is anyone there ?. The air always bore a chill. In my mind I still lean over the half door and look in. The dark has thickened into an even deeper silence and I can feel its cold touch brush against my skin. There are times I swear I can see a glint as if something was caught in a blink of light. I call out - is anyone there ? - but no-one ever answers.