Mr Boombah Takes Aim

The fire was a turning point. It was an end to a life that had been all encompassing and a black and inauspicious start to the next chapter. I remember flattening belly-first against the timber floors to escape under a fallen beam. Then the undignified scramble downhill and the realising. All that work. The hours of collecting. The men had poured their efforts, their dreams and plans into this hut in the woodlands. It had only been a matter of weeks. It felt like a whole season. The league members had spent their evenings sifting through the detritus of the day, and expounding on theories long into the night. Now all the material of the study consumed by flame.

There is great comfort in a woman's lap. Tonight I'm thinking of Sylvia. She was nothing special to look at. I knew her back in the days when I had less grey around the temples and more length to my stride. Knew her well enough to tell what was on her mind by a certain tone to her voice. She cared for me, I always knew that. Our times together were good times. But when it came to leaving I didn't think too long about it. She never had any claim to me. I wonder what she's doing now. Because now the comfort of a good woman and a familiar place to rest your head after a long journey is one of the best things this life has to offer.