The comforting afternoon gold fades to a dusk through the cloudy windows and casts a dim, familiar gloom over the ancient room, with its wooden, rough floor boards, covered furniture strewn with leaves, and an ancient upright piano sitting forgotten in a remote corner. Thin mots of dust, visible in the streams of amber sunlight breaking their way through the weather beaten roof, float upon the still air before disappearing in the unexplored region of the floor. The whistle of a bird sitting in an oak, ancient in years and growing by the front door, breaks the silent world before all falls to peace once more. The scurry of a mouse, following its usual path through a feathery field of dust, disturbs the still air, driving a minute wave of movement through the shifting sun beams like ripples from a well thrown skipping stone. The mouse disappears through some hidden crevice with a twitch of its whiskers and the air stops moving once more as the dusk turns to a sad, quiet purple and then a delicate midnight blue. Another day passes for that ramshackle little room with the clouded windows, battered floors and a little old dusty piano sitting in the corner, woeful and lost.