As I creep around a grassy clearing in the Pilot Hill Arboretum near Tumbarumba, it's quiet. Completely, utterly quiet.
Encased by towering trees, this place feels like an entirely different world - the sort of hidden valley where time stands still. The only sound is the disembodied call of birds echoing from deep within the pine canopy. The low, late-afternoon sun casts long rays across the grass, plunging the clearing into a soft twilight.
.png?w=600)
