It is a world which has sound in it, distant cries and penetrative calls, and low mysterious notes, as of insects and corncrakes, and frogs chirping and of grasshopper warblers--sounds like wind in the dry sedges.

And there are also sweet and beautiful songs; but it is very quiet world where creatures move about subtly, on wings, on polished scales, on softly padded feet--rabbits, foxes, stoats, weasels, and voles and birds and lizards and adders and slow-worms, also beetles and dragon-flies.

Many are at enmity with each other, but on account of their quietude there is no disturbance, no outcry and rushing into hiding.

And having acquired this habit from them I am able to see and be with them.

The sitting bird, the frolicking rabbit, the basking adder--they are as little disturbed at my presence as the butterfly that drops down close to my feet to sun his wings on a leaf or frond and makes me hold my breath at the sight of his divine colour, as if he had just fluttered down from some brighter realm in the sky.