Golden light spills out in between the crevices and cracks
The world seems still save for the slight wave and rustle of each branch conversing with the wind visible to a discerning eye
Somewhere off in the distance a machine rumbles
The click of a light turning off
A voice calls out
Another mutters
Not still
Not completely peaceful either
But not loud either
Pleasant
A sense of comfort
A sense of security
just the way I like it