Above me, the wind rustles the leaves of the trees and the faintest smell of oranges passes me. The gust of wind brushed my hair into my face, tickling my nose. I can feel the sun on my face, but my body is cool. I can tell the leaves of the orange trees are shading my body. It is cool enough that when the wind blows an automatic shiver runs down my spine. When there is no breeze I can feel my skin radiating the heat it absorbed from the sun earlier in the day.
The ground feels cold on my naked feet. This part of the park must not be touched by the sun. I also can't feel any grass, but cold and dry leaves. I also feel sharp and dry pine needles sticking into me. I hear them crunch and break under my break when I shift my weight.
Although I am removed from the busy city below, I can hear distant sounds of sirens. First, they are close, then they fade into the distance. Close by, I hear the shift of the gravel and the pedaling of bikes. Groups ride by every so often. The murmur of voices is constant. Some are in Italian, some are in languages I could not identify.
All of a sudden I hear soft crunching behind me, but I cannot feel the vibrations a person would make were they walking near me. The noise confuses me as I could feel no breeze. The. I hear the soft cooing noise that I know all too well. He crunching and cooing continues as it circles me like a shark. I hear it flap its wings and the rustling of leaves. I open my eyes to see it staring at me from a branch.
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