Ninety-odd percent of it gone, and still not dark.

Not dusk. Dusk has a direction to it, a west to fall into, an hour you can name. This came from nowhere in particular and went nowhere after, and the cold came with it, out of season.

Twelve minutes past seven here. Then it gave the light back, the way it was always going to, and the evening put itself together again as if nothing had been borrowed.

Forty years of watching this coast for what the light is doing, and it has never once done that.

Not again in Ireland until 2090.