Nature in the raw.
Darkness engulfs the tangled wood, her blackened teeth close slowly across the willows and submerge deep into the heart of the stream. The last light bids farewell once more, a ritual that's been held millions of time, and hands over the keys to those of the dark side.
A Roe buck browses on unseen branches and picks his way through the sensual undergrowth, his flanks stroked by oh so many blades of grass, kissed by midge and night things.
As water measurers and beetles track their final meal across the syrupy film of the ditch water flies evade tiny parasitic wasps and the slugs slip unseen from the soily recesses.
Tasting the damp air a large black individual who goes by the given name of Arion Ater lays down a shiny, sticky line that catches in the moonlight and will persist until the morning.