dead in my tracks, I listen for a moment. I can hear nothing; I sit down and stay very still. I hear a cicada starting to chatter, a bird starting to chirp and the wind starting to blow against the tough trees. I like this place and I will surely come back again.
I’m back and I’m only walking this time and it is quiet, very quiet. The birds are not singing soundly, the cicada is not chattering and chirping and the wind is not so strong. It’s night time.
By Jakob
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