'Twilight, the gradual softening of the day into darkness, is surely the gentlest, most natural way to prepare for sleep. And yet it is a pleasure we deny ourselves with the switch on the bedside lamp. Even the guttering of a candle or the afterglow of a paraffin lantern is less abrupt. A couple of generations ago most country people went to bed when it was dark, at least in the summertime. And so we miss the time of darkling shades in which our pupils can dilate by slow degrees and dreams drift in as, wide-eyed, we enter the rook-black night.'
Roger Deakin, Wildwood

On the somewhat magical subject of twilight, a very early Boris Pasternak poem was read out on the radio a while back. I only managed to catch a few snippets:
'... And what is creativity if not compassion for twilight? ... a thousandfold nameless agitation that has missed the path and lost itself...'