Mystical Wood

Normally, I don’t take walks in the evening. I was glad my husband was with me on this one, because the woods had a certain ancient, waiting feeling about them — like the forests you encounter in books like those of Tolkien or Susanna Clarke. The only birds singing were hermit thrushes. They seemed to be stationed at intervals along the way, just frequently enough that one was always sending out its silvery, solitary song.