Dusk in the Wood Dusk is the time to stand
in a wood, for when the shadows thicken the fox moves, the owl goes floating to and fro and birds come in to settle for the night. The little wood up the hollow is largely conifer. The ground is a thick carpet of needles and cones, for the most part brown, although here and there a bit of green shows where bluebells, aconites, primroses and fern are trying to make a show. At dusk just now the place is a roost for unmated pigeons. They come flapping into the tops of the trees when the evening sky is taking on that smoky shade, and, unable to see clearly what is beneath, they spend a long time peering down and moving uneasily. Once they are settled they are reluctant to move. If a stick cracks they clatter out of ,so many unexpected places that one wonders just how and when they alighted in them. The little owl does not wait for twilight to be off across the field, but the tawny owl is not so fond of the day. His first call is a thing to make the hair on one's neck rise. About that time, when stiles and ditches are difficult obstacles to negotiate, I like to be well _ on my way home.
Previous page
