It’s high summer. The stillness in the deep shade beneath the trees on Havernook Lane is almost total, disturbed only by the lazy drone of bees, like the static gravelly sound of recorded silence. Lacy drifts of cow parsley skirt the verges as the road meanders through the trees, winding its way into the distance. Between the sculptural forms of the ivy choked foreground trees is a recently mowed field, ready for baling. The whole scene in serene silence borne of the immense stillness of lonely places. The only sound, the hum of a living breathing planet.