“There is something secretive about this secluded place. 

In my cottage, in the dark deciduous woods of an Appalachian summer out of sight from the road, I am wrapped around with trees and their tapestries of green leaves. 

The air is completely still, and leaves fall noiselessly onto the bed of soft brown litter.  Because it is cloudy the cicadas are not singing and that small dawn burst of bird song is past.

I hear drips of condensation from the early morning fog, which is gone now but has left its condensate on the top canopy.  Occasionally in the distance I hear the tap tapping of a woodpecker, keeping the forest awake. Sometimes I see a tiny brown bird furtively foraging in the leaf litter.

The animal life here is mostly hidden.”