The Soundscape of a Moor on a Sunday Morning

I can hear church bells ringing down in the village. A steam train hoots, hoarse and shrill, on the valley's historic railway line. Joss pants heavily beside me, having just chased a rabbit. Then comes the clop of horses’ hooves as two riders appear over the brow of the hill.

The wind’s stroking my ears. I catch the faintest snatch of traffic noise. The bells grow louder as I stride further across the moor. The train whistles once more. The soft tramp of my wellies on the turf duets with the quicker pad of Joss’ paws. There’s a squelching and a sucking as I slither through lingering mud. Then the squeaking of my heels as I cross wet grass. Bird cries add to the morning tone poem. As does the metallic jingle of Joss’ name tag, swinging from his collar.

I splash through a puddle and crunch onto gravel. A dog barks. The bells grow louder still, clear and lovely. At the highest point of the moor now, the wind assaults my ears. But carries, unbeckoned, faint snatches of conversation between other walkers. Then a cheery ‘Hello!’ or ‘Morning!’ as we pass.

Someone’s calling their dog. My feet trudge steadily along the track. The unseen train is getting up steam now. Beside me, a feather-light tinkle as I brush, like hanging chimes, tall grasses with my hand. The fleeting hiss of bicycle tyres crescendos then dies away as a pair of cyclists pedal by us on the broad homeward path.

Suddenly, there erupts the loud, unmistakeable call of a grouse, hidden nearby in the heather. From high in the sky comes the comforting drone of an aeroplane.

My soles are scuffing a brief stretch of tarmac as I near the car. A pebble bounces a staccato dance as my foot glances at it and sends it skittering across the ground. From somewhere in the distance travels the lowing of cattle. Then, close at hand, a contented ‘Harumph!’ as my dog lies down, not wanting to climb in the car just yet.

I hear a distant tractor. Its rumble is lost under laughter as a small group of Japanese tourists hove into sight. A car engine starts noisily. Followed by the infinitely gentler sound of a kiss planted, as I settle one affectionately on Joss’ soft, soft head. Then I say ’Hup!’ and there’s a dull thud as he clambers into the vehicle.

Sounds. Layers of sound. Yet by far the most insistent, the loudest, the most overwhelming, is the sound of the stillness; the soft breath of the moors, singing their Sunday song.

Comments

[hope | paper relics]

Sigh... it sounds (pardon the pun) so dreamy! I would love to be next to you on one of your walks one day!!

[jeand]

This writing is so beautiful - I was almost with you on the walk. The photograph fits perfectly. More of this please.

[Rosanna]

What a beautiful poetry of the Sounds!