The conspicuous early spring breeze found its way readily through the leafless branches, finding no obstructions. There was very little representation of life on the trees other than traces of untimely leaf buds, a promise of full foliage in about four to five weeks time. There were still faint signs of the punishing effects of a hard winter on the barks. As yet too early even for signs of bird nesting. The water in the lakes showed no indication of that gentle shiftless summer movement on the surface.

There was no question that an abundance of insect energy below and above the ground was being yielded although, again, it was too premature for it to be perceptible to the casual observer. Notwithstanding, officially, Spring was here and the temperate warmth of the sun’s rays was unmistakably felt.

It had been a rugged winter. Snow, floods and other winter weapons had been vented on the environment. Wherever you looked, particularly around the countryside there was evidence of the harshness of this dying season. Broken branches lay where they fell looking out of character with the gentleness of nature. The occasional misplaced mound of soil, rock and mud reflected the general direction the floods had travelled leaving a trail of dislocated natural paraphernalia.

A solitary figure walked leisurely along an unused track through the open fields, occasionally bending down and examining the discovery with casual interest.

Mona walked as if in dream. She was fully aware of her intellective condition as she studied with interest this awareness. A dream, she projected, an illusion or delusion which participates in our thoughts, conscious or subconscious and over which we have little or no control. A vision that has the qualifications to influence our lives to an extent which is beyond our vision. A metamorphic and incomprehensible part of our brain which may lead us into acts, the outcome of which may be both to our benefit or our detriment.

Her thoughts wandered. She was cherishing thoughts of Mark on his summer holiday visits to St Clair. Her brow suddenly tightened and a cryptic frown covered her pretty face. No, this will never do she told herself. I must not dwell over the past, happy though it might have been.

As she walked over the gentle rolling hills occupied with her thoughts, she had not become aware of a threatening build up of clouds. She was suddenly brought to the present by the roar of thunder that exploded across the countryside like an ocean wave, having built its power on its journey towards land, broke upon the jagged rocks surrounding the yielding sandy shore. Having arrived and dissipated its strength, it was no longer a threat. The shore patiently waited for the next wave.