All is quiet and cool here in the forest garden this morning. The birds though, are busy, quietly raiding the baskets of apples I've left on the veranda. Even the usually-cautious blackbirds are hopping right inside of the baskets, helping themselves to as much apple as they can cram in and only flying off at the last moment when disturbed. The wax eyes are bolder still and return within seconds following a fright. There's no sound of traffic at all; perhaps absorbed by the fog. Or maybe the world beyond our woodland has ceased to exist. Once the fog lifts, I'll know.
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