Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn
As oft he rises ‘midst the twilight path
Against the pilgrim, borne in heedless hum.

— From Ode to Evening - William Collins

Twilight’s Path

Prints from this series are available via The Tree Art Gallery