The Garden of Stars by Zoe Chamberlain Page A

Rosie and I had enjoyed going over there on the rare sunny days there had been. We’d lie there looking up at the sky. It was calming to put my worries into perspective, seeing just how tiny I was compared to the great big world around me. We’d take it in turns suggesting which clouds looked like they were the shape of an animal or a train. Rosie’s were usually the most fanciful; she often saw mermaids, dragons, unicorns, and other such mythical creatures. I loved her vivid imagination. Sometimes we’d just lie there in silence, making up stories in our heads or closing our eyes and listening to all the wondrous sounds of the meadow so different to the haunting noises in the forest. Here the birds chatted away and the squirrels scampered up and down the tall trees on the edge of the glade, hiding their stash for winter, the bees busily too-ing and fro-ing between the brightly coloured flowers.
    Â Once, we lay there silently, only to open our eyes and see a deer, hovering unsure between two trees in the entrance to the woods. When she realised we’d seen her she took off, elegantly cantering back into her darkened den. More recently, we’d ventured over there, wrapped up in our coats, hats, and gloves. Snuggling up together under a tree, telling stories, we’d both drifted off. I opened my eyes to find the glade had gone quite dark around us, and the grass was illuminated by magnificent glow-worms. I had roused Rosie and she looked about her in wonder and delight. We felt the magic of the woods that night as it guided us back home safely, even though our eyes had become redundant in the black of the night.
    Â But no, I had no fear of needing to steady my step here today because I’d be home long before it got too dark to see. And, in any case, I knew the paths like the back of my hand and could probably get back with my eyes closed.
    Â As I approached the stream that led down to the river I could hear it gurgling and hissing and popping like a newly opened bottle of home-made lemonade being poured into a glass.
    â€˜Glip, glop, go away
    Now is not the time to stay
    Go, go far from here
    If you don’t it’ll end in teeeaaaaaarrrrrss …’
    I chuckled with the stream. I was so used to making up songs for Rosie I heard them even when she wasn’t with me.
    Â â€˜I’ll have to remember that one for next time she’s here with me,’ I said, aloud. My voice sounded strange, loud and somehow alien amongst the undergrowth. It caused a flurry of birds to scatter out of the trees and soar into the air above me. I’d been part of the woods, barely noticeable to the wildlife, until I’d opened my mouth. My voice was the one thing that gave me away, it was so different to the voices of the singing birds, buzzing insects, whistling wind, creaking trees, and rustling leaves dancing around me. Now the whole forest stood still. I stood with it, silently watching and waiting, as it watched me, nervously working out if I was friend or foe.
    Â It took a couple of minutes. A robin took to the stand. I strained my eyes to see him, not daring to move my head. I was the defendant. He, the judge, sat pompously puffing out his chest in a tall tree looking down on the rest of the forest. A wood pigeon bumbled a coo-coo and promptly fell out of his tree, flapping his wings to steady himself, blatantly pretending he meant to do it all along. The forest erupted into hysterics. The birds cackled away, some cawing, others cawing, and the blue tits snootily tutting in annoyance at the wood pigeon’s stupidity. The squirrel scurried up and down the tree in excitement.
    Â Finally the robin let out a beautiful rendition of his favourite song and the forest quietened down again. I thought for a moment I was going to get off lightly, thanks to the wood pigeon’s decoy.
    Â By now, the blackbirds had started to surround me in the twilight. I hadn’t noticed them at