you're standing in the bustling morning market square. you've been collecting goods in your basket, preparing for a picnic by the river later on. cheese, jam, a fresh loaf from the new witchgirl in the bakery. there's a ruckus coming from the fisherfolk across the bridge. pink petals from the crepe myrtles fill the cobblestone cracks under your feet. you always liked the sound of cicadas in summer.

22 tracks