The Thinning Of the Veil

Leaving aside my ramblings on memory for the moment, because it's difficult and I'm stuck, let us take a different path for the moment. 

During our walk this evening, I pointed out something that I thought was fairly silly, but felt was worth mentioning nonetheless

"It's one of those nights when things look a bit strange. The landscape looks different. Kind of fairytale-ish. At least that's what I used to think when I was small."
"Yes", says my mate. "it does that sometimes. Takes on a different character. Reminds me of The Wind in The Willows, or something of that nature."

I was surprised by this, thinking it had been my own imagination. There's nothing very fairytale-like about the place we live. There are no lush meadows or babbling streams. Instead, we have rocks and cacti and dense underbrush with thorns. Plus withering heat. Not exactly the stuff of fantasy.

We talked about it on the way home, why the landscape would suddenly seem to change its character on some days, but not others, not most of the time. Maybe it was weather conditions, or the evening sun reflecting on the rocks. Who knew? Mostly, we thought it felt mysterious. Secretive, almost. Secretive? Wasn't that just personifying the landscape? Whatever, it felt secretive. And anticipatory. Like it was waiting for something. But waiting for what?

I told him that in my youth, I'd stay up late on nights like these, waiting for that thing that felt like it was going to happen, but it never came. Meanwhile, the dog was going uncharacteristically nuts, trying to escape her lead, as if she could feel it too.

I pulled out my camera and a took some snaps, as ever trying to capture something I could only feel.

 The pictures did look different from the hundreds I'd taken before - during the night, during the daytime, at all hours of the exact same places - though why, I can't say.

The sky was turning pink with sunset and the dog was whining after something we couldn't see. A doe and her fawns came right up and stared at us, almost close enough to touch. The spirit of the wild was afoot, maybe. Or it was one of those times, as they say, when they veil between worlds becomes thin.

Whatever it was, we decided to leave it to itself and went home to dinner.