Inkpen, West Berkshire: I was out with the dog when the sound came – like the sea being sucked out, only with the speed of a passing jet
It happened once before, at dusk in December, on the same hollow track that passes through the wood. This time, again, it was upon me, and I had the same unsettling instinct to run with it, my heart racing.
The sun had set, the pheasants had roosted and all was still. I was out with the dog. When the sound came, it rushed above us like a great gust of wind through the trees – though no tree stirred. It was a hollow, curving sound, like the sea being sucked out, only with the speed of a passing jet. Five seconds later, it was all over.