It was a joy to start walking in the forest again.  Several days driving and office-based planning had left me keen to be outside in the fresh again and get moving.  As we left the village behind the noises of the forest took over, insects mainly, with the occasional bird chatter, and the sounds of us making our way along the forest trail.  We traversed a small river, balancing precariously along a thin bridge made from a felled tree and using bamboo poles to steady ourselves.  Or at least I did, and there wasn’t much steadiness involved either.  I looked down at my army boots. Already slick with mud from the path I had little confidence that they’d give me much grip on the log.  I tottered and teetered along the bridge then threw myself onto the opposite bank just before I fell off, hitting the bank with a bang, slithering down and stopping just before the water.  I laughed and looked back at Lios and Gérard, who had been following my ungraceful crossing.

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“Hah!  Made it. Your turn, Lios”

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She hadn’t been convinced by my technique.  Although I’d made it, my wobbling like a drunkard and the prospects of an imminent fall were all too obvious a threat. With a ‘forget that’, Lios slid down the bank, forded the river and clambered up the other side.  She grinned broadly.

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“Wet feet, sure, but at least the rest of me’s dry.  I’d have come off for sure”

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Gérard wandered serenely over the wobbling log, his green wellies seemingly gripping the small tree like a gecko’s feet.  I guessed he done it before.

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He was grinning like a Cheshire cat.  Far too easy.

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"Give us a song, Gérard," I asked, as he headed into the camera.

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He duly obliged.

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