Camille’s mother

I’ll have a coffee, I say. The silent stream of water, the unobtrusive sound of birds and nearby traffic far away. I hear the fire burning, the rustle of wood. I see no signs of smoke. This is not a good day for losing somebody. Mawkish music comes from the hill, the riverside covered with stories to tell. I walk too fast? I say. There is no danger, no villain in the darkness. No lie. This is the track I was looking for. The fire is digging under my skin, resting there. When I look back the path, I see no blades of grass trampled underfoot, no footprints.