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Tenby. A seaside town on the South coast of Wales. End of May into early June. Late sunsets, followed by warm, springtime nights. It's 1am and the mics are recording alone. Capturing the atmosphere of Tenby, in the dead of night.
Behind where we're staying are dim shapes of buildings. A tall tree with whisping leaves. Empty sun loungers and nextdoor's gate, loosely fastened, being moved atmospherically by the gusts. Echoes of distant windchimes. And there above, the deep, dark, quiet sky. And all around, the breezes. How this place sounds. How it rests, in this smallest hour. And murmurates, under its so peaceful sky.
Tenby. A seaside town on the South coast of Wales. End of May into early June. Late sunsets, followed by warm, springtime nights. It's 1am and the mics are recording alone. Capturing the atmosphere of Tenby, in the dead of night.
Behind where we're staying are dim shapes of buildings. A tall tree with whisping leaves. Empty sun loungers and nextdoor's gate, loosely fastened, being moved atmospherically by the gusts. Echoes of distant windchimes. And there above, the deep, dark, quiet sky. And all around, the breezes. How this place sounds. How it rests, in this smallest hour. And murmurates, under its so peaceful sky.
So much silky air blowing in from the Atlantic that it's barely any effort to breathe. Soft flowing currents, that billow, cuff, and clean. Listen. Listen. To the trees. Can you hear them? They're breathing for you.
QUICK LINKS
This is an episodic podcast, so you can listen to it in any order, but episode one is a great place to start.
Listen to episode one hereTenby. A seaside town on the South coast of Wales. End of May into early June. Late sunsets, followed by warm, springtime nights. It's 1am and the mics are recording alone. Capturing the atmosphere of Tenby, in the dead of night.
Behind where we're staying are dim shapes of buildings. A tall tree with whisping leaves. Empty sun loungers and nextdoor's gate, loosely fastened, being moved atmospherically by the gusts. Echoes of distant windchimes. And there above, the deep, dark, quiet sky. And all around, the breezes. How this place sounds. How it rests, in this smallest hour. And murmurates, under its so peaceful sky.
So much silky air blowing in from the Atlantic that it's barely any effort to breathe. Soft flowing currents, that billow, cuff, and clean. Listen. Listen. To the trees. Can you hear them? They're breathing for you.
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