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.