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.
