High, in the remoteness of the Cumbrian hills above Dentdale, with buzzards circling overhead, we found a fir forest. 
Tall, elegant trees, reaching up to the sky. 
All leaning, slightly, against a mild August breeze. 
The mild, long distance, cross country breeze.  
The hill was steep, so we stopped to take in the view behind. It was then we heard the forest. 
Its dense trees loomed above us. Only twenty yards away. 
Giant sails, in moving air. 
Tall. Dense. Each tree hushing not in white noise, but in noise of other shades 
Light browns. Dark browns. Dry stone greys. Twilight greens. Dark purples. 
Each undulating. And dissolving into the other. 
Nearby, we found a path. It led into the forest. 
Led into its quiet heart. 
Surrounded by hushing trees, we listened. Stock still. In total silence. 
A remote fir forest. High, in the Cumbrian hills. 
* We left the Lento mics alone to capture the undulating sound within the heart of this forest. At 29 mins a freight train can be very distantly heard as it rolls through Dent railway station farther down the moor. Or the fell, as the locals say. From ten mins in a buzzard can be heard circling directly overhead. Dentdale is at the western end of the Yorkshire Dales National Park.

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