Spring's come.

April's been when changes happen.

I'm moving house and to the bone reconsidering all that my life's been.

I gather I learned a lot.

Yet I still find my self ahead of the starting line.

All's been postponed some week or three by the move and logistical pitfalls it brings. 

To calm the inner pressures I look to the experience that all I ever did was well premeditated, with all resources flocked in firm ranks for an offensive that can't end but in an overwhelming victory. Sometimes some a while later than in two first opportunities met, but the method thus faster. That's what I tell my selves. 

The weather's been a peach the past two weeks. chilly to start with but past three days we've had up to some 22 degrees and clear skies. The synoptic maps have transformed from an early spring chaos to showing high pressure systems breathing calm onto the turbulent Britain from all sides and even the political turmoil of preceding months seems somewhat forgotten and past even though brexit hasn't yet come to it's climax. 

I have turned thirty one and It'll be three years this July that I came over here. I think it's for the first time i truly miss the old stead, my family and my friends. And for the first time I thought of a return in a positive context. The thought tastes unreal and unimaginable thought, similar as the first glimpses of the idea of me coming over here came into my mind, some four years ahead of the actual migration.

I got a job here. And that's been taking a toll on my free time and visits home. And it is to take precedence for some months, nay years down the line. 

And It's now stagnating even before it started. That's what it feels like. And the pressure is unpleasant as it's unnecessary. 

All my senses tell me, lay low, maintain focus, stay sharp. Courage and fast action will have it's fruition further on. Those two are stage actors and we haven't yet got a stage. Stealth and calculation for now. Why not indulge in sensing the inner storm brewing. The time for leap is near. not yet though.

I recalled recently a game we played at a boy scout camp when I was around ten years old. Vlcata we were; wolf pups. 

For this game we were split into three proportionate groups of around ten boys of all ages, between nine and fifteen. The objective for each of the teams was to go into the woods, find a good spot and build a shelter for overnight stay. Points were received for how well build the shelter was, for how concealed we managed to keep its location and appearance to scouts from the other teams and for Intel about the rival teams shelters whereabouts and appearance.

I was too small to do any serious building apart for gathering materials. (which simply wasn't my thing) And I was too small to guard the perimeter. The big boys from other teams would have simply toss me aside if not just run past.

Running past and making my way through in a pack with other boys was for longer legged ones and so stealth was what I went for. I don't think this independent decision of mine was well received with the older boys in my team as having hostages would be points for other teams as well. I think they knew me well enough not to try to talk me down. This I only suspect now as I never then realised how straight headed child I used to be.

So I went.

I had my camo trousers with big pockets on sides, I had my camo parka with a hood and a large pocket on the belly and I had my khaki green wellies almost up to my knees, with somewhat unfortunately yellow soles (I would just make sure to sneak onto my target head front.).

I walked some distance, guessing where the big boys from rival teams would take their troops due to what I knew of them and after less then expected walking through woods (that I knew very well after two weeks at the camp) I ducked at hearing voices carried by the wind from a ridge over a small valley of a small stream.

At first it dawned on me that I was indeed too small to even make a decent run for it if spotted and any of the big boys could have chased me down in no time. Eventually I started to make very slow and cautious move towards where I assumed due to highest concentration of noise, must be the shelter. I recall pondering whether its that I'm a coward to be so cautious to a point of taking never before seen amounts of time to move point and whether the game won't be well past over even before I'll be able to pinpoint the location of the shelter. (I didn't have clock. team leaders had one each and we'd be called back to the camp by a horn) 

To my growing astonishment, my slow but consistent approach worked. I recall figuring out then (and have followed this ever since) never to look directly at your pray or anyone near your hiding point. Eyes felt like a focus well and as if reciprocal gazes had a tendency to lock in almost magnetically even when unexpectedly scanning the horizon.

I made it very near. Some five meters away from the shelter I laid in almost plain sight, peaking from under my hood, pressing my soles as low to the ground as possible. I was to the side of the shelter where in the tall forest a small group of trees grew with a couple of scattered raspberry bushes. It offered some shade in otherwise well lit forest floor and non of the builders felt they wanted to pass through it as it would require bending down to clear the low branches.

Unfortunately I didn't have a quite clear view of the shelter as it was partly obscured by a tree trunk. I knew that getting up and making flight just past the shelter at some point was the only option I had. But I was so damned short. So I wait.

I remember wandering what is it good for, to be so good at this when nobody knows. To be in fact so good that even when I tell of it later they wouldn't believe me. Maybe a failed daring and courageous attempt would bring me more glory than a semi successful half believable concealed op. But then I thought, I was too small to get any glory one way or the other and so I laid on.

At one point all the strain and worry of being discovered worn off as two boys walked a meter past me even talking about possible spies being around on the near ridge at such later stage of the game and I felt becoming cocky and I remember this brewing in me whilst the brain struggled to maintain morale. I was set on figuring out a way how to make it out, being seen and not being caught. I thought, being so little, it might take them a while to appreciate what I've done and only go for the chase late enough to give me a chance to hide again and win by time chasing them back to their base worrying of it not being protected.

Then after a while, luck struck and a pair of older boys from the third team made attempt at the camps perimeter on the other side from the shelter which caused much commotion and lured almost all the builders and guards away.

Only one staid behind. Consequently my tent mate Vena. He was older than me, but he wasn't the physical type. Still could catch me, but he was told to stay put and to catch me he'd have to make effort. 

So I got up and casually, yet maintaining distance I walked around the camp, nodding to Vena hello.

He first thought I was with them, then he realised I wasn't and I remember seeing in his eyes some horrendous effort to figure out how exactly I must be outside the rules and this is possible. The centre of the commotion on the far perimeter had shifted nearer and so, having seen all, I cheesed it across the stream and into the tall grass of the opposite ridge.

He followed up to the stream and stood there for a bit until called back.

In the end he denied that he had seen me there and my story was half heard and dismissed in disbelief since I was too little. And I didn't really put on a fight trying to confirm it. I knew that it was supposed to be a game of teams and that I was too little to be more than a material gatherer or straight on burden. And that I wouldn't be believed. 

No matter though what this ending sounds like. I was majorly happy with my self that day. Vena knew. Other boys had seen me disappearing as well. 

I knew what I did.

In my quiet way without too much jumping around. I was content for days to come.