Fog blanketed the island and all was still. Birds flew as ghosts, weightless to the eye, their cawing dimmed. Tree branches and fence posts formed the only contrast in the wintery landscape. The hushed voice of the wind barely reached the ear.

A heron landed on the lakeshore, the star in his own private performance, a flash of bright white. Across the field, cranes took flight in a single file, and all was quiet again.

(0) comments

Welcome to the discussion.

Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.