It is always quiet here, a few cars taking three people to work and two sets of children to school. An elderly couple walks past for exercise. But first thing in the morning if the wind is in the right direction we can hear the distant hum of traffic on the road that goes through the town.

Today there is nothing, only birds—singing, squabbling, chirruping, coughing. New couples feather dance. The stream babbles, the drains from the fields tinkle their steady stream of ground water, a dog barks. No fear yet; the enemy is elsewhere. We listen to the birds.

not silence

but the hush that falls

when the world of men

slows

to a graceful halt