Suitcase and bags in tow, retreatants headed for their cars back to places of work and ministry. The last shouts of “Good-bye! Have a great year!” subsided. The grounds around Lial Retreat Center seemed empty. The next morning birds and animals noticed the unnatural—or should I say natural?—quiet. Walking to the lake, unconsciously not wanting to disturb, I noticed my footsteps were almost tiptoes. However, the “Nature Symphony” was tuning up. Shrieks from raucous crows pierced the silence. A heron stared silently into the lake until its quick splash heralded a successful breakfast. Frogs took up the bass notes: hurumph, hurumph. A dairy cow bellowed long notes in the next farm. A welcome breeze rustled in the meadow as Monarch butterflies flitted around the Queen’s Lace. These sounds created the first movement of “The Nature Symphony.” Throughout the day I rarely listen to the other movements: scampering squirrels and squawking geese, water pattering and sprinkling on rain gardens, followed by steady drips. As the setting sun falls onto treetops, the quiet hum of insects takes up an annoying chant until the night sounds become a susurrus in the moonlight, an almost imperceptible lullaby.