Walking round our village on our one walk a day, the air is full of birdsong, and even so early in the year and despite it being chilly, there’s the rambling buzz of bumble bees lurching about from early spring flower to early spring flower. Occasionally there are other sounds, an unseen child’s voice asking its parent something, the whoosh of bicycle tyres and very occasionally a car. We see few other people, and when we do we cross the road to avoid them – there’s no traffic so we barely have to look. before we step off the pavement.
“Do you think this is what we would have heard in the village a couple of hundred years ago?” we wondered. But no, there would been horses hooves, the noise from the wharf – maybe explosions from the quarry, sheep and cattle on the hill and in the fields. It would probably have been noisier than it is today.
Yesterday I only went out in the evening, not that late but the streets were utterly deserted. Many houses were in darkness with lights on upstairs as if people had retreated to their bedrooms. Then all I could hear was the sea, it must have been coming in or going out, and the cries of foxes. They are very bold in the evening anyway, but now they are fearless, and understandably, the night is now theirs. I walked down the middle of the road, why stay on the narrow pavements? There was the sound of a train, rushing through the night, but I heard no cars or other vehicles.
It’s peaceful out walking, but not naturally so, in fact it is almost disqieting.