On my walk through the neighborhood, I grew slowly aware of a change in my
surroundings. My favorite birch tree, usually alive with whispering leaves, stood
silent like a frozen sentry. No sprinkler hissed, dog barked, or mower hummed.
Even the sky seemed to be waiting, holding its breath.
What impression of the scene does this description give?
It is eerily quiet.
It is a calm, lazy day.
It is unusually cold.
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