Nightfall
In the last rays of the setting sun the hills glow golden brown. There is a loud though distant clamour of Rooks and ‘Daws.
A Blackbird chinks from deep within the understory while a Barn Owl ghosts the edge of the wood. Yet it is still not-quite-dark; the sky to the west a faint wash of blue, tinged orange-pink. …
first stars ...
parlour lights twinkle
across the vale
