Dusk walking, owl hunting and the light fades from the day turning all gray, except for the golden gorse. The air is scented with honeysuckle, gorse, bluebell and twilight.
Five cats walk in ginger chain up the darkening green lane to the high hill top and wings flutter and flush in the twisted thorn bushes.
Across the fields a blackbird sings, is answered and sings again. From the moorland the cuckoo calls its twilight song.
Aerymice paint black flashes against the dark gray cloud filled sky. The pattern of their flight looks like music.
Only the birds sing. All else is silence, waiting for darkness.