Shhhh! The walls have ears, I have been told. And where there are no walls, there are trees, and they have ears, too. Everywhere the ancient pitch pine forest is alive, waiting and listening. My feet crackle on leaves and old pine needles, no matter how gingerly I might attempt to walk. The old trees creak and groan high up in the air when the wind blows, and the wind is always blowing. Little animals chatter and run back and forth on the ground or in the trees. When the weather is warmer, the constant hum of insects will be intense, and the birds who eat them will sing from one end of the forest to another. And into that forest I walk, but my sound is foreign. They have all been warned that I am coming. The ears always hear me and they relay the information to every living creature. Then each will decide if he will come out and visit with me or if today is a day to avoid human contact. One does not surprise the forest. It is the other way around, always.