Why should we have any fear of the dark? Somehow darkness is synonymous with all the bad things and daylight with all the good things. I have to admit to fear of the dark; it is quite irrational and my sensible self tells me not to be so silly. But my 'real' self still does not care to walk down the yard in the dark. I am quite happy on the walk down to shut in the hens but I am pretty jumpy on the return, having a stupid feeling that I am being followed. And in the middle of the night if I find it too warm I would love to put my foot out of bed on to the top of the duvet to cool down, but dare I do that? No - irrationally I wonder if there is a hand which might grab hold of my foot.
I once admitted to the farmer that I had never been for a walk in the moonlight, so one night, when it was a full moon, we went for a walk across the fields. It was so beautiful. It was a still, warm night and light enough to see exactly where we were going. My little black pug, Algy, was still alive and he came with us - and wherever he went we could still see him. It was, as they say, "as light as day." All colour had gone from the scenery, everything was in monochrome. The trees were still. Only the water in the beck sparkled and moved along at its usual rate. I count that walk as one of the most perfect I have ever done. But, dare I have done it on my own - sorry but no. Don't tell me I am stupid about it. I know that full well. But it doesn't make it any easier. And with Hallowe'en coming up this weekend - well the feeling may well be worse than usual. We have lovely bats flying about here - only on or two but they fly swiftly and silently up and down the yard, just above one's head. I love them and would love to stay out and watch them for a while, as long as the farmer is there too.
What are your views of the dark? Am I the only one to be afraid of it? I do hope not - there is safety in numbers. I just wonder if the fear goes back to my childhood in the fens of Lincolnshire. Our only toilet (I am writing here of the 1930's) was an outside toilet at the bottom of the garden. Going down to the toilet was, for me, a major operation - only undertaken when I could wait no longer!
I would gather all my strength and courage for the return to the house, open the toilet door and make a dash for it, never stopping until I opened the kitchen door and the light poured out. Then I would breathe a sigh of relief that I had made it unscathed.
So whoever said, "From ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night - the good Lord deliver us" certainly hits the nail on the head for me. What about you?