Rusty pheasants crank
Daffodils pale in the gloom
Dusk light fades to black
Was a warm clear day. I walked through the moors to get home from the station (Arsenal beat villa 3-0) at dusk. The temperature was wonderfully cool, where a fleece is perfect. When the daylight falls, you rely on other senses. Hearing and smell. Like our ancestors.
I could hear a right old racket in the woods, Pheasants barking at each other, their grating calls like a 1920s car horn. The daffodils looked pale, almost white in the failing light. I like the lonesomeness of the woods and moors at night.
Not many people use the moors at this time, but I did pass two lads with a flashlight and their inquisitive dog. And a lady, powerwalking with her own canine companion. I bade them all a good evening well in advance of our paths crossing, just in case they hadn’t seen me. I don’t want to startle anyone or make them uncomfortable. Not that the night should make people any less friendly, but the darkness does provoke a mistrust in others. Again, the primitive part of our brain, sensing danger. We’re outside of the cave, we’re exposed, our night vision isn’t as good as the predators. Wolves prowl.
No comments:
Post a Comment