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It
was
like
holding
their
heads
down
for
a
brief
moment
to
the
pulse
of
an
apple
-
scented
fountain
flowing
cool
up
into
the
air
and
washing
their
faces
.
They
could
not
move
for
a
long
time
.
The
next
morning
was
a
morning
of
no
caterpillars
.
The
world
that
had
been
full
to
bursting
with
tiny
bundles
of
black
and
brown
fur
trundling
on
their
way
to
green
leaf
and
tremulous
grass
blade
,
was
suddenly
empty
.
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The
sound
that
was
no
sound
,
the
billion
footfalls
of
the
caterpillars
stomping
through
their
own
universe
,
died
.
Tom
,
who
said
he
could
hear
that
sound
,
precious
as
it
was
,
looked
with
wonder
at
a
town
where
not
a
single
bird
s
mouthful
stirred
.
Too
,
the
cicadas
had
ceased
.
Then
,
in
the
silence
,
a
great
sighing
rustle
began
and
they
knew
then
why
the
absence
of
caterpillar
and
abrupt
silence
of
cicada
.
Summer
rain
.
The
rain
began
light
,
a
touch
.
The
rain
increased
and
fell
heavily
.
It
played
the
sidewalks
and
roofs
like
great
pianos
.
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And
upstairs
,
Douglas
,
inside
again
,
like
a
fall
of
snow
in
his
bed
,
turned
his
head
and
opened
his
eyes
to
see
the
freshly
falling
sky
and
slowly
slowly
twitch
his
fingers
toward
his
yellow
nickel
pad
and
yellow
Ticonderoga
pencil
.
.
.
There
was
a
great
flurry
of
arrival
.
Somewhere
trumpets
were
shouting
.
Somewhere
rooms
were
teeming
with
boarders
and
neighbors
having
afternoon
tea
.
An
aunt
had
arrived
and
her
name
was
Rose
and
you
could
hear
her
voice
clarion
clear
above
the
others
,
and
you
could
imagine
her
warm
and
huge
as
a
hothouse
rose
,
exactly
like
her
name
,
filling
any
room
she
sat
in
.
But
right
now
,
to
Douglas
,
the
voice
,
the
commotion
,
were
nothing
at
all
.
He
had
come
from
his
own
house
,
and
now
stood
outside
Grandma
s
kitchen
door
just
as
Grandma
,
having
excused
herself
from
the
chicken
squabble
in
the
parlor
,
whisked
into
her
own
domain
and
set
about
making
supper
.
She
saw
him
standing
there
,
opened
the
screen
door
for
him
,
kissed
his
brow
,
brushed
his
pale
hair
back
from
his
eyes
,
looked
him
straight
on
in
the
face
to
see
if
the
fever
had
fallen
to
ashes
and
,
seeing
that
it
had
,
went
on
,
singing
,
to
her
work
.