Dusk, when the edges of all things blur. A time of mauve and moonlight, of shapeshiftings and stirrings, of magic. It’s my favourite time of day.

Nocturnal wildlife has a special fascination; it usually lives out of sight beneath the radar of our everyday, human lives. We pull on our fleeces, let the camp-fire die down and steal into the woods. I hear the moan of the pump house and the faint laughter of children in the camping field. We make our way quietly down the woodland path, old beechmast crunching underfoot, midges fussing about our faces. The moon rises up in the east, spilling light over a few steely clouds. The sky deepens to a twilight blue. It is balmy and a gentle breeze lifts the black lacy hands of the canopy in a silent dance. Below us the woodland floor falls away in a confusion of ferns, red campion, bramble and ivy. Somewhere down below is the badger sett we discovered earlier in the day, inconspicuous unless you are close by. The smooth hummocks, discarded bedding and well-worn paths meandering off through the trees are tell-tale signs. It’s intriguing to think that a badger family might be slumbering beneath our feet.

We wait. The ground is damp; it has rained in the last few days and the badgers will be out foraging for earthworms. They emerge earlier in the evenings in autumn for food and bedding. We listen. I crouch in the spiky twigs of a hawthorn bush in a pocket of darkness, fingers in the earth to steady myself. The close smell of earth and leaf litter. My partner stands motionless a few metres away, back against a beech. We wait and listen, wait and listen. Anticipation. Darkness creeps into all spaces, rich animal darkness wraps around us.

Japanese folklore has it that badgers can shapeshift into humans and sing songs. Or they may change themselves into trees, stones, comets, drum on their bellies as pranksters, lure unsuspecting observers into ditches and swamps. This evening we have been lured into the woods at dusk by our own curiosity.

The shadows rustle. The sound becomes a movement in the corner of my eye. Do my ears and eyes deceive me? There is a movement to my left along the path I am sure. I dare to turn my head but fear my clothes will rustle. I can just make out my partner, who has turned towards me. He is mouthing something; he too has sensed a movement, a badger close by.

A little piece of grey-garbed night is trundling towards us, quite unaware of our presence. It is a little unsettling to think he could run into me on this path. He – I call it he for convenience – snuffles the earth, hesitates but seems unbothered; badgers rule these woods. And he is so, so quiet. Now I can see the white stripes on his face, his open gaze, as curious as I am. There is something humorous, almost comical about him. He bows and lifts his head, sniffing the air; badgers have reasonable night vision but a great sense of smell. He seems unfazed and comes closer. So close is he now that I could reach out and touch him from my place in the shadows.

I stay as still as I can in the hawthorn. It is thrilling to be so close to a wild animal, to be in their space.

The badger is just one foot away now and I am tense and trying not to shake. The moment is long; I know I will need to move soon. I make a slight noise and give myself away. The badger stands stock still for a second and then, with a blur of grey, he hurries off into the night. I sigh, but I’m smiling. Smiling to myself in the darkness.

Alexi Francis, 2016