Fireflies in the forest

(Painting: Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose by John Singer Sargent)

An enterprising parent we didn’t know posted an invitation to all interested parents at our children’s school: ‘come camping in Epping Forest the first weekend after end of term’. Who could resist? Okay, we nearly did, but that’s us. We were camped to one side of a large field, one of four such fields on the campsite. Our fellow parents were pitched to right and left. A hundred yards or so away the forest lay, dark green and mute. After darkness had fallen, once the tents had been set up, the food burnt and eaten, and fires lit, stoked and tended, a snaking line of children, pied piper-like, began to make their way towards the forest. Our children joined them and Is said we should go along, to keep an eye on them. There must have been 20 or so little ones and maybe half that number of adults. We reached the lip of the forest and entered in single file to avoid the brambles and the whipping of branches. Once inside, there was a lot of space between the trees. The children’s torches were like fireflies snapping this way and that. We walked towards a clearing, dead leaves and twigs rustling and snapping beneath our feet. It wasn’t dark, I don’t recall a moon, but the wood seemed luminescent, lit from within. There was a magical stillness despite our noisy progress. At the centre of the clearing a gnarled tree stump twisted up towards the night. Someone suggested returning then, but that was much too soon. In the middle distance a path could just be seen and I suggested walking at least to that point. Once reached, of course we had to walk further. All the while, there was the contrast between the excited chatter of the kids now split into little groups, the hushed talk of the adults and the quiet of the wood around us. Likewise, the flickering of the torches, the luminescence and the broader darkness of the night. Eventually the adults’ call to return to camp became irresistible and we reluctantly turned around and retraced our steps. On the way back I couldn’t resist the urge to leave the group and go into the woods on my own. It was only 5 minutes, but the silence seemed to descend preternaturally quickly, despite my still being able to see the party a 100 or so yards away. I thought I might be spooked, but I wasn’t. Five minutes. Just long enough to taste something much bigger and much, much older than my own life.