The Island - August 2011 There is an island that sits in a field, by a field, by a street, by a town filled with people. A contained wilderness on the edge of town, invisible to any not searching for a place to hide. Just a few trees in a field, a blur of green to a busy commuter train. Yet as if from a prehistoric time, it stands solid, monument like in the landscape, whilst at the same time somehow remaining almost completely obscured from view. I cut through the cornfield to get closer, striding off the pathway with the anticipation of an explorer about to discover uninhabited land.             The Boffy - July 2011 A clump of trees at the edge of a large open crop field, a small distance from town was once known to me as ‘The Boffy’. I had briefly spent a few weeks one summer playing there as a child with my older sister and some of her friends. It was a place that had represented excitement, danger and fantasies of the supernatural; stories had circulated of a ‘Boffy Ghost’ that was the victim of some horrific, undiscovered child murder. We had even thought we had discovered an open grave. I return to the Boffy to find it still being used. There is evidence of makeshift huts and the remains of bonfires.

©Christina Bryant 2011