This morning I went for a dawn walk on Pilsdon Pen, a hill that overlooks the Marshwood Vale in West Dorset. A perfect autumn morning: when I arrived, the rising sun was illuminating the bracken-covered crown of the hill in a blaze of russet and brown.
Later, bright sunshine and low mist skimming the fields and hills gave a scene reminiscent of a Chinese ink painting. It was so still I could hear all the sounds of rural life: cows lowing in the yard after milking; sheep bleating, ducks quacking and chickens clucking. Add to that the wilder sounds of crows cawing and buzzards mewing, and you have a perfect soundscape.
The reality was, sadly, not quite as tranquil, because of the inevitable road noise, even in this quiet spot. There are very few places in the southwest you can go without hearing cars these days.
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