It was a dreary day in the meadow. Surely everything would be okay. There would be no more running, no more tears. Just the pure, quiet, sound of crickets singing. The desolate singing of the wind blowing. A melancholic quite that brings one to their knees, to sit down, to think. The day was a dreary day indeed. But it was worth every second of running because she could finally feel relaxed. To sit and admire the lovely comforting silence that was in this forlorn quiet meadow.