There is a calm that takes over the garden as dusk approaches.

The birds, having fed enough to keep them through another night, head off to their roosts. Their song becomes quieter, until only the occasional alarm call from the blackbirds are still heard.

The brightly coloured butterflies of the day disappear, and are replaced by the more subdued, patchwork shades of the moths.

As the light continues to dim,  the shrubs and trees become dark and slightly menacing and the cool air whispers quietly through their leaves.

There, in the half light, like a pause in these sounds, silent wings deploy.

Bats, with their inaudible calls, dip and dive over the surface of the garden ponds. They follow the garden hedgerows,  organised like banquet tables laid out for summer feasting. Feeding on many of the insectivorous garden raiders that would otherwise make short work of our neatly planted flower borders.

I cannot help but think there is something quite incongruent with our image of bats, for it is more likey that they feed upon those bugs which perpertrate those eery “bumps in the night” that disturb our sleep and feed our nightmares. They feast upon the gnats and mosquitos, the true flying phlebotomists that leave us plagued with those red, itchy lumps as they congregate around our outside lights or blunder in through our windows should we opt to leave them open to the summers’ night air.

Then, as the dusk darkens the shadows into night, the gentle “Hoo” of the male Tawney Owl, coupled with the short “ker-wick” call of the female is perhaps one of  the most familiar sound to come out of the darkness. The magical, soporific sound that conjures images from the  tales and stories of childhood. When heard from our beds it draws us in, enticing us to close to ours eyes, allowing sleep to envelope us and lead us to our dreams.