Wharfedale, Yorkshire: There are moments of beauty, but the silence can also be eerie and strange, or mask an underlying hostility
In Lower Wharfedale, there are new kinds of silences everywhere. Around Beacon Hill, on the Chevin, the seismic roar of aircraft booming off to Edinburgh or Alicante from the airport nearby has given way to the white noise of a sunny heath in April; a silence textured with the bee-charged buzz of a goat willow, the delicate song of a dunnock, or the soft gloops of mating frogs in a pond. Along the verdant stretch of the Wharfe near Otley Mills, where peace is usually eclipsed by the rush of traffic on the A660, birdsong glitters in the fresh green trees like sun in a stream, and a dipper alerts me to its presence with the tiniest of chirps.
Related: Name that song - it's the perfect time to learn to identify birds
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