The day is ending and night is closing in.
Floods have swollen the rivers, causing aquifers to burst out across the land.
Everywhere is sodden.
I put on my wellies to walk the gardens, eager to see the mighty force of water sweeping through the pond.
I step in squelching earth underfoot as the last blackbirds sing out their territorial salute to the day as it passes into the west.
With the pond weed all but cleared, the last vestiges of a winter’s day linger on the surface of the water.
Droplets of rain cling to twigs and ivy in the still of the evening air.
Lichens, sodden with rain, flop across the horizontal branches of the Goat Willow.
The otherworldliness of the Fairy Wood beckons as the birdsong ends and silence descends.
I make haste up the gentle hill towards the cottage and the warmth of home.
Once indoors, I sit for a few precious minutes in the fading light, blissfully soaking up the silence.
Day, evening and night merge seamlessly at dusk, fertile edges of the imagination.