The shadow of my hand holding the pen defined my grip. Alone on the screened in porch I set to writing. Wanting to write the scene. The morning sun scattered by the oak and hickory tree leaves, the songs of over a dozen different types of birds, the constant hum of the cicadas and the occasional break of the harmony by the hammering of a woodpecker in the distance filled my senses. A shuffling among the underbrush at last revealed a squirrel who soon shot up an oak tree straight into a blind spot of the sun. The gentle breeze caused the vivid green leaves to wave to me. There was no silence or quiet as nature woke up. But there was a human quiet. No one was awake yet in my cottage. All the adjacent cottages held in the sounds of humanity. All that I could hear was the soothing sounds of nature and it provided a welcome peace.