Invisible by day, nightjars patrol the city's gardens and graveyards at sundown, basking on the afterglow of quiet pavements between silent flights to engulf moths and other nocturnal insects in a gape of froglike proportions. The birds are more often heard than seen as they utter their monotone call from fence posts and low branches. The repetitive 'tocks' were a twilight din for rural folk in quieter times, though they are but dampened squibs compared to the breathless shrieks of pre-dawn koels.
A park bench served as a convenient perch for a large-tailed nightjar that interrupted an untimely stroll. More used perhaps to less intrusive passions in a cul-de-sac of shadowy embraces, the bird seemed unsure what to make of a quartet of detached observers. After several blinks, it balked and gave up its seat for more cryptic lookouts, leaving its admirers to enter a trail of scorched earth and brave the unimaginary dangers of a forest in the grip of a dread, dry spell.
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