othing tongue. I can smell the wet grass

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othing can be heardexcept the quiet sound of the cricket singing its song and the rain
drumming on the ground. The pitter-patter of the rain falling is like an
almost silent beat played on a drum. The birds have all left this quiet
street. Our neighbors can be seen closing the windows across the street as
if they are shutting away from the rest of the world. A small rodent creeps
across the sidewalk, almost waiting to be swallowed up by the ever so
growing force of the beating rain. A waterfall falls down the street
creating puddles. The kids across the street emerge from their locked up
house wearing bright yellow rain jackets and big yellow boots. I see them
jumping and laughing in puddles. I open my window as if to talk to them,
but breathe in the crisp air instead. Cold, moist air beats past my face.

It feels as though winter is coming. I taste the bitterness of the air on
my tongue. I can smell the wet grass on my lawn down below me. A fall of
many leaves comes to an end, like a joyful day coming to a close.

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