I like the dark. I like it especially when I know the territory, as it might be these woods. There is, of course, always an awareness of the firmly reined-in fear, panic in the old sense of the old god Pan, that something is out there. Perhaps that control is part of why I like it. There is a stillness, a waiting quality to the night. It helps, of course, to be confident that there is nothing natural to fear. The horse will alert to a bear before I need to react to it. And frankly, there are no people who know these woods as well as I. And those that can move in them more confidently, in the dark, than myself? Well a) life isn’t a movie; and b) I wouldn’t have a chance wherever or whenever.
In any case, watching the woods, or a house, in the dark* brings new dimension to a landscape. Certain trees have a whole new aspect, perhaps a density that sets them apart in a way that was not apparent in the daylight or a branch which catches the eye. The long grass is a dappled shade, whereas the mown lawn is a neat surface of hard lined light and dark. The goldenrod is a heavy scent in the air, the crickets are almost too loud, the rustling of a sleeping bird on the branches, the horse eating in the field. There are no mosquitoes late in the night.
*semi-dark, in this a lot of light provided by the house. Moon light works equally well. Pitch dark is rare, unfortunately.
Acair Fearann 
I love the dark and almost-dark. We have someone who is disabled living here so we are just about to put in low lights for the pathways which makes me sad, although I support putting the lights in. I am hoping we will occasionally have “dark” nights where we turn the lights off and everyone pulls their shades or turns off their indoor lights so we can be in the dark, and maybe even see stars — although this is western Washington.
Stars are a vanishing commodity. I find I go for years without noticing the light pollution, and then I am somewhere without light pollution (Orkney, the Great Basin of Utah, northern Ontario)…and WHAM!