The campfire is getting low. Everyone else has left and I am staring into the glowing logs as the fire dies. I can’t quite bring myself to leave its heat, nor to break it apart and hasten its death.
Suddenly I hear a loud rustling in the undergrowth on the opposite side of the fire, around fifteen feet away. I immediately start racing through possibilities in my head, all senses alert, peering into the darkness beyond. It sounds huge, the size of a longhorn, but there are none here, or should not be. What else would make so much noise? Clearly this creature is too big to care if it attracts the attention of others.
The rustling and crashing of leaves continues. Whatever it is doesn’t care about my proximity, which means that I should probably care about its. I am very glad of my fire. I get up from my chair to move closer to its light and safety. As I do, I remember the flashlight in my hand and start scanning the area, but I see nothing. I scan lower, into the undergrowth and suddenly my shoulders relax. It’s an armadillo, turning over the dry leaves, looking for her dinner.
I hear a faint sound behind me and turn with my light. A group of raccoons are about ten feet away, walking purposefully across the grass in single file as if this were their daily commute. An otherwise invisible trail becomes apparent when, a few moments later, they are followed by another. If I had not been on high alert from the armadillo I would not have heard their soft footsteps or seen this trail.
I push the logs apart, killing the fire, and retreat.
“This is how it is in the fields, hedges and woods: things heard but unseen…”
Roger Deakin