It was just like any other June evening turning into the night in my town, but for me it was a time with a lot of emotions. Sentimental memories were intertwined with curiosity and sadness. I was leaving home again; only this time, I did not feel excited. I knew it would be hard to say goodbye to the places where I belonged and to the people who were a big part of my life.
             Somehow I found myself in the native park during the early hours before leaving. It smelled of peace, like in heaven; however, no angels were present. I looked at the mysterious dark cottonwoods surrounding me. Their forms were fantastic. I even saw three motionless jesters at the same time. Then my glance caught an adult maple. I realized it was the same tree that I had helped plant that could barely be seen a few years earlier. It raised it arms, branches, toward the sky as if trying to express itself in a constant tremor of old leaves.
             My legs were uneasy and I gave them freedom. Soon I was carried to what was once the shore of our local lake. The image of the moon once floated on the surface, when the water was still and calm and not dried up. I think back on how I could feel the lake breathing slowly and regularly, like a man sleeping with no worries. The sound of the shore, a quiet never ending sound, joined many different voices of people in the distance. It seemed to me as if the melody of Beethoven was mixed up with our day's pop music. Why did I notice that so late? I do not know.
             Even the grass was alive. It adjusted to my feet, trying not to disturb me, and at the same time saying, "Listen, listen, listen." So I did. I knew I could hear silence even if there were no sounds at all.
             There was a young lady approaching. I looked at her. She was wearing a red jogging outfit and smiling. I could not think of anything to say. It wasn't too big of a surprise that the lady in red said, "Hello." S...