Not a breath of air anywhar.

The leaves of them alders hung straight as a plumb-line.

Except for that thar stream and that thar wheel, nuthin' moved.

Thar wasn't a bird on the wing over that canyon; thar wasn't a squirrel skirmishin' in the hull wood; even the lizards in the rocks stiffened like stone Chinese idols.

It kept gettin' quieter and quieter, ontil I walked out on that ledge and felt as if I'd have to give a yell just to hear my own voice.