A strange stillness had come over everything. The birds — where had they gone? It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, and wrens, there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh. No witchcraft, no enemy action had silenced the rebirth of new life in this stricken world. The people had done it themselves. This imagined tragedy may easily become a stark reality we all shall know. (Rachel Carson)
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