After living in the Manchester area for 20 years, the first thing that struck me was the quiet. In fact, call it silence.
Having grown up in the Cotswolds, I thought I wouldn't have noticed this that much. But it's this quiet -- sorry, silence -- that allows one to see life at a more human pace; to fully accept and believe that life can slow down and it is more fulfilling this way.
I am constantly reminded of this when walking our very excitable Labrador, Ted: he is full of vigour and affection and appreciates his home as much as we do. Early of a morning or just after dusk, the silence is always present during these key dog walking times; it is a comfort blanket providing balance and a clear head, allowing a sense of perception into what really matters in life.
However, during these times, the silence is broken as the dog crashes into the field, disrupting the herons' early morning coffee meeting and the buzzards' daily plotting ritual. But they don't really mind, they just move to another part of the field to continue their essential discussions.
The colours add to the silence, creating a sense of peace and solace. Fiery oranges mixed with lilac purples can dominate the sky, creating a sense of wonder and bewilderment -- how can skies simply look like that? The spiky shadows of the autumnal trees, piercing the early evening colours; transforming the landscape to something almost other worldly.
The silence will always be a resident in its own right, indeed, it is a mandatory presence. There will always be the Teds of this world to test it, to make it disappear albeit momentarily. But it is resilient and contented and will always feel at home here.
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