The rain had finally settled down to just a trickle: Like a leak in a spout. I walk over the blanket of moist pine needles that were blown from the highest points of the oldest pine trees. It is sunset. The birds sing their last song before the night comes. I climb up an old oak tree to get a better look of the color in the sky. Just as the dark is about to capture the day, I lean out into the night air, and it is silent. The whole world is closing its eyes and I appear to be the only one who is watching the day fold away.  There is silence. I too close my eyes, and I listen.

Inside the mind there is a world. Not a real outside world with people and cars, but the mind is a creative, thinking world were only its person can control. A world full of life and adventure and also nothingness at times. The mind is a treasure chest. A book of a million pages, both filled and empty. The filled pages are homes to all of the thoughts, good and bad, ideas, plans, knowledge, and memories. The empty pages are for the times to come; the birthdays, graduations, family reunions, science projects, and new school years. Then there are also sad and lonely moments that will come; loved ones dying and broken hearts. The mind is like a clock; the gears, and wheels always turning, always thinking.