This afternoon I spent an idyllic hour in the Quiet Glen.
The sun was shining down on me.
There were no sounds of man or his machines.
Even the wind stopped its breeze occasionally, so not even the rustle of grass disturbed my tranquillity.
The gentle sound of the river, lightly splashing itself over the rocks and boulders of its bed were a very quiet background murmur, with a meadow pipit very occasionally uttering a tweet as it flitted from tussock to tussock.
Days like this don’t come along often, so when they do, soak them up and etch the details into memory.