An almost silent and distant hum of a car approaching.

I was in my bed, at age 10, counting sheep was not helping.  Don’t get me wrong I can count, but my sleep wasn’t  coming by counting those little cute fence jumping sheep.

The sound got a bit louder, closer.

I lived on a hill, my bedroom was at the front of the house overlooking a reasonably quiet road.

We used to have the melyn manor up the road.

Interesting place is possibly the best way to sum the manor up.  Especially on a weekend where the sossled staggered past our house early in the morning.

Harmless men singing songs of things that a ten year old shouldn’t probably hear.

The cars engine got louder.

Who’s in that car, where have they come from.  Do they have a passenger, are they alone.  Listening to music or with window open enjoying a cool breeze of a surprising warm and dry Welsh 80’s evening.

The car is getting closer, I stared at the gap between the top of the curtain and the wall ready for it.

My bedroom was in darkness, nearly for the slight moonlight reaching through that gap.  My parents room was behind me and the slow rhythmic snore of my father was the only other sound.

The car was really close, the rev of the engine I could hear as it started to climb our hill.

I liked my little bedroom, it was mine, my secure place.  So extending my thoughts from the safety of my bedroom out into the moonlit darkness gave an odd feeling of curiousness and danger

Who was this mysterious driver.

Then quickly the room lit with his headlights, my ears were filled with the sound of his engine.  It was a crescendo to my senses.

And then as quick as it came, the car, it’s driver their thoughts and feelings were gone, gradually fading into eventual silence, leaving just the soft rhymetic snoring of my father.

Where are the going to, are they going home, have they left home are they happy or sad.

To many questions for a ten year old, whos slowly drifting into sleep to answer

Nos da

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