Dancing In The Dark

Piper

Below the cloudless, ink blue morning sky, the robins perched on the branches of tall, old jacaranda trees. Their purple blooms complemented the white picket fence on either side of the brown gravel driveway. The sun slowly rising behind the bush in the eastern hills gave a golden glare over the dew stained paddocks. Within those paddocks, mares and foals, gently nipping at the fine green blades of grass. The lush paddocks carried on around three-hundred yards up the hill, at the top, a flattened space of land. Sitting on it was an outdoor fenced arena, full of colourful show jumps. To its right, an indoor arena, with rectangular windows and white hitching rails attached to the outside walls. Behind the arenas were acres of bushland and trails, rich with wildlife. If you stood still and closed your eyes, you could feel the light morning breeze tickle your skin, carrying away any burdens or worries. Time was still, the atmosphere was undisturbed, the robins' sweet notes forming the morning's melody. It was a typical early spring morning at Ridgewood Acres - something that was never taken for granted.

               I filled my lungs with the chilly air and let out a deep sigh, my own breath visible in front of my nose. My boots ground against the gravel as I walked along the driveway, suitcase in tow, bumping about on the stones. Horses looked up from grazing and turned to face me as I walked by. At the end of the driveway, there was a large double story house, layered wooden planks, painted white. It had a large porch out the front. Hanging from posts, were seemingly brand-new rain jackets and horse rugs. Beside the front door were a cattle dog and a kelpie, sleeping on a hessian bed covered in old blankets. The kelpie had just arrived at my Uncle's house before I left a few years ago, we named him Remy. The cattle dog was unfamiliar to me. Dog toys of all shapes, colours and sizes scattered the porch. An old wall clock hung above the dogs' heads, reading five-forty in the morning. I stopped my suitcase at the base of the porch. Making my way up the creaky wooden stairs. The cattle dog's ears pricked up as he opened his eyes to watch me. Folding my hand to make a fist, I knocked on the door thrice. The cattle dog stood up and stretched. He unsteadily made his way off the bed to greet me with a lick on the hand. I looked at his collar, 'Zenith' I read it aloud as the dog lightly wagged his tail. I heard a chain unlock from behind the door. Opening the door was a man, around his late-thirties, with an excited expression. He had brown eyes, a short beard, and wore an old blue plaid long-sleeved shirt, a black puffy vest over the top.

'Uncle Scott.' I smiled. He opened his arms out wide and exclaimed, 'Piper!' I gave him a hug.

'It's been so long, Uncle.'

'Four good, long years I reckon.' He replied. He shuffled his vest a little bit and rested a leg, 'I'm afraid you will have to sleep in the hayloft in the stables. Quite a lot of boxes seem to have accumulated in your old room over the years.'

'Oh, That's alright. I'll just build another blanket and pillow fort in the loft like I used to.' I grinned. Scott raised an eyebrow and chuckled. 'You're not seven anymore - aren't you a bit old for that now? You're eleven this year, are you?'

'Twelve actually. Besides, you're never too old for a pillow fort.' I laughed and gave him another hug. He gave a sigh of relief. A smile swept across my face.

'It's good to be home.'