Sunlight reluctantly relinquishes the bay, replaced slowly by sheer, burnt-orange veils falling gently over every hard surface. Silently all is wrapped in carbon-black; inspired and unimaginative structures alike, effortlessly redacted. Power lines and gutters painlessly dissolve, leaving thousands of amber cells of light to my left and right, and a few at Ashton Park, across the bay to the North, sparkling like suspended gems in the night. Suddenly, a cool breeze. Trees in Beare Park shift and whisper – a conspiracy of leaves, aching to speak, but bound by age-old vows of secrecy. As dark as it is now, I can still tell water from sky… a deep, still blue-black under a black-black starless heaven tonight.