Wandering minstrels
I was walking past the Clitters mine this evening, having vetoed the dogs' suggestion that we go into the mine and through the woods, on the grounds that the sun had set and the mix of afterglow and half-moonlight was not bright enough for slippery woodland paths. From the road, I could hear people in the woods: clearly someone was more intrepid than me.
The people came out of the mine just before I got to the gate. They were four young men, one of them holding a guitar. They came out onto the road, joking and giggling, and set off, four abreast right across the road, silhouetted against the moonlight. The one with the guitar was playing and the rest were singing along, quite tunefully between outbursts of laughter as they walked.
Rosie thought they were terrifying, but Brythen thought they were wonderful.
The people came out of the mine just before I got to the gate. They were four young men, one of them holding a guitar. They came out onto the road, joking and giggling, and set off, four abreast right across the road, silhouetted against the moonlight. The one with the guitar was playing and the rest were singing along, quite tunefully between outbursts of laughter as they walked.
Rosie thought they were terrifying, but Brythen thought they were wonderful.