The sun is setting. Its last weak rays spread across the blue sky gently landing on the tops of the old pine trees. Long cirrus clouds are swimming in bands away from the distant horizon to unknown, undiscovered lands. The first stars are already being born far away where the faint rays of the sun can not reach. Up above a tiny star is dropping from the heavens creating a bright streak of light. Soon it disappears behind the trees leaving nothing but a memory. The last frail beam of light lightly touches the face of a mockingbird before slipping below the horizon. Shortly the last traces of light will be gone and darkness will descend upon the solemn countryside. The air which was just hours ago fuelled with the warmth of summer sunlight is now chilly and unwelcoming. A light breeze stirs it into motion and rustles through the leaves as if searching for something and not finding it gives up falling silent.