Summer time blues

Eight year old Sera was what you would call a bit of a firey character, but definitely began the day with a shaky start. In fact, it was going to be one roller coaster of a day for little Romanian Sera.

First, as soon as she was introduced to the adults who had arrived at the garden party, she uncharacteristically bent her head shyly towards the ground and then had even let the blue ice popsicle she held in her hand, melt in the hot mid afternoon sun. When everyone said hello she mumbled soft greetings in her native Romanian, 'Buna Ziua', before speeding off somewhere. She returned seconds later with an orange football in her hands, completely forgetting about the ice popsicle altogether, which lay abandoned on a small mahogany table standing on the concrete porch in front of the house.

'She likes to do boy things,' said her mother Sofia Suciu, who was also now my friend.

'A tom boy then,' I offered.

'T-o-o-mmm boy,' she repeated with reluctance in a Romanian accent.

'Yes!' I guffawed slightly, 'Just like you described - Tom boy is what we say in English to describe a girl who likes to do 'boy' things. My niece Amelie is just the same.'

'Ok - if you say so.' She said, not looking convinced.

I had been in Romania for eight months when I had finally been making friends and was invited by Sofia to a summer staff meet up and barbecue today. Sofia and her family kept a lovely wood house near to the forestry mountain region near to the Carpathian Mountains outside the city.

I had a kickabout with little Sera before the other adults and children arrived. As soon as her friends came, she was off playing with them in the nearby forest and around the house full of places to hide among the shrubbery and wooden pallets.

It was about half an hour later when we heard a scream from somewhere in the woods, likely playing hide and seek, and three of the children, came running back to the garden as the BBQ was in full working operation sizzling great fish and bits of local lamb.

'What is it?' cried the adults.

'Its Sera!' they chimed, 'Sera, Sera, Sera!'

'What?'

American Matt, Sofia and I rushed towards the wood, with the children close behind.

As soon as we got to the place Sofia exclaimed; 'Oh Sera!' and had her hands at her hips smiling. We all began to smile too. The mesh metal fence which Sofia and her husband had put up to stop deer and other creatures like wild hogs from entering the garden, now kept little dark haired Sera out and trapped in the forest. She looked pale and stood as still as a statue, her fingers holding he gaps in the flimsy structure for dear life.

'Just go through the gap by your foot!' voiced Sofia, doing her very best not to reveal her amusement. Sera looked slowly down.

'What ye doing?!' Bellowed big Matt with his strong American accent, still holding a can of Fara Alcool and pointing it. I began to lift the fencing in the gap and Sera, forcing herself to slowly move, clambered through.

Later on, as I had been planning to, I decided it was time to follow the footpath from the house to the forest, as the sun began to arc closer towards the summit of the mountains and the afternoon festivities started to ebb towards its natural conclusion.

I always feel meditative and reflective in August because unlike New Year's Eve, which always feels like a time full of empty promises, in summer there is no denying the truth. That one day soon all of this green beauty will come to a natural end as we go into autumn.

As I made my way past the spot where little Sera had got herself caught by the fence. I wanted to see if there was anything that had got her spooked.

Inside the forest, there was a healthy glow of sunlight breaking in through the branches of the trees and I could feel the deep pervading silence that only a place unvisited by people can possess. It was as if the trees spoke to me; whisperings of timelessness and natural peace. Not a thing on the ground stirred, but the thin and ancient trees were alive and swayed back and forth in the warm wind. Nature flourished unchecked here - typical forestry conditions with little vegetation growing in the ground, except for areas where the sunlight consistently hit the soft bracken covered earth and these spots were filled by spouts of greenery and wildflowers.

Above was where the real life of the forest began. Great silvery branches groped and stretched out to the blue to meet the sun's rays. The smell of fresh mountain air and deadwood crunched underfoot. I wandered up a sharp slope to a tree where I could see better.

I took another big breath and pressed on into the trees' embrace. It was silent, but for a summer's breeze. The shimmering sunlight passed through gaps in the branches and hit the stems of the ancient silver birches like moving water. All seemed still at first until a few moments later in fact I could see everything here was moving and alive.

Every minute or so there was a deep silence and then a crescendo of moving leaves, as another burst of swishing wind hitting the thousands of branch covered green like some great unseen hand and the fresh foliage, dry from the powerful sun, cracked, snapped and twittered like the rattling of a thousand maracas in perfect harmony.

The wind disappeared and the musical melody of the leaves ceased and all became as silent as the void. I stood there amazed and suddenly felt like I was some insignificant spectre on this age old landscape, this wise old earth.

I leant against a tree and waited for the big invisible hand to return to begin the whole process again. Then I stood in one of the spots where the sunlight glowed as the afternoon inched ever closer to evening to catch some warmth. Soon the forest was filled by the synchronised harmony once again.

As I made my way back towards the house to re-join the others, I went through the forest and reached the tree and the slope I had climbed up some time before. I looked back and noticed the wind had stopped completely. My ego couldn't help thinking that all that was for me and I felt like I'd been transported to another time and place. I cocked my ear to hear that same familiar whispering of the leaves one last time, but not a thing stirred except for the rushing of blood in my own ears, before I finally returned to the happy laughter of the people in the garden.

When I did, Sera and her friend Lilly were under the shelter doing some choreographed dancing perfectly matching the other as their mum filmed them with the camera. 'To the left, to the right. To the right, to the left.'