It is already getting dark beneath the trees though there is still enough light to distinguish each blade of grass here in the clearing. In the world of people it is nine o'clock Friday June 10th but to the trees and the birds and all else that is living here there are no hours or weeks but there are days and there may be lunar months... but for all of us, animals, plants, insects, people this is evening, the gradual transition between day and night.
Now i can hear a wood pigeon. The thrush, if that is what it is, still sings intermittently, and i think i can hear other birds in the distance. The wind has dropped and the leaves and branches move only occasionally and the grasses not at all.
I look up, trying to see an aeroplane that i can hear beyond the trees and clouds. Instead i see a bat flying in a zig-zag path - i suppose it is trying to catch an insect at every turn. A small insect lands on the screen as i write and i blow it off. A man runs past going as fast as he can.
It's becoming darker now and i decide to go. I walk between tall trees where it is already almost dark until i reach a seat by the Vale of Health pond. A blackbird hopped before me as i emerged from the trees and i decided that what i'd listened to was not a thrush but a blackbird. I seldom if ever see thrushes on the heath.
This is an evening in the history of the world, as is every other.
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