Every year I enjoy sitting  in the garden as dusk approaches on midsummers day. Conditions are not ideal being breezy and cool. Nevertheless, blackbirds sing lustily into the twilight. Four goldfinches, two to each nyger feeder enjoy supper only five feet away from where I sit . They tolerate my closeness provided I don't make a sudden movement.

After a dry spell, frog have remained in the pond but this evening two move out croaking and hop into the shrubbery hunting worms. Late bees probe the lupins as tiny moths flutter around the honeysuckle. Suddenly, a male stag beetle zooms noisily  and erractically over  the fence, no doubt scenting  a female that flew in minutes ago to settle on the lawn. The male zig-zags about almost as if drunk, crashes into the wall and falls on his back, legs flailing above. I rescue him and place him on the fence where he stays for a moment before resuming his quest.
A pipistrelle bat flickers fast around the trees. I throw up a small piece of  mud to which he instantly responds but his echo-location tells him that the object is no juicy moth so he veers away.

Around 9pm swifts form up into their nightly spiralling vortex to roost. Ten years ago I would have seen dozens of screaming birds funnelling up together but tonight only about six ascend, their population sadly dwindling year  by year.
At nine-thirty pm blackbirds continue to sing and finally the distant songthrush joins in.

Rain threatens as dark clouds gather so I go back inside, aware that tomorrow there will be three minutes less daylight. Mid-summer is past already!