Woodland Dusk

At the fold of day a veil shrouds the hills as rising fog drifts over tapering fields. Rain falls softly, dimpling the river. It’s sombre waters swaggering beneath a narrow bridge. Rambling oak trees line the steep grassy banks. Ferns furl their long slender fingers into tight fists. They recoil into rooted mouldy stone. Moss carpets the woodland, the earthy air, damp as dusk slinks in. A murder of crows sweep the sky smothering the light. Squabbling they swoop to roost on tall tree tops. Settling, a rustling murmur whispers softly, sweetly. They sleep under a saffron moon. silenced by a blackening night.