I used to regard November as the D month. Dank. Dismal. Dreary. Depressing. That is, until I discovered the Dark. My conversion took place on Black Friday 2019, as I sat alone in a Bedfordshire wood under a sliver of moon.
With eyes slowly acclimatising, I started to pick out night’s nuances – the pale suggestion of leaves underfoot, a glimmer of eyes? What surprised me, though, was the sound. Behind me, the woodland stream continued flowing as loudly and vigorously as by day, yet it seemed incongruous in the darkness, as if the water should be slowing and quietening, preparing to bed down for the night. The irrepressible gushing dispelled any anthropocentric notion that the natural world is a diminished place after dusk.
