A Fable for Tomorrow
Gap-fill exercise
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There
once a town in the heart of America where all life
to live in harmony with its surroundings. The town
in the midst of a checkerboard of prosperous farms, with fields of grain and hillsides of orchards where, in spring, white clouds of bloom
above the green fields. In autumn, oak and maple and birch
up a blaze of colour that
and
across a backdrop of pines. Then foxes
in the hills and deer silently
the fields, half hidden in the mists of the autumn mornings.
Along the roads, laurel, viburnum and alder, great ferns and wildflowers
the traveller's eye through much of the year. Even in winter the roadsides
places of beauty, where countless birds
to feed on the berries and on the seed heads of the dried weeds rising above the snow. The Countryside
, in fact, famous for the abundance and variety of its bird life, and when the flood of migrants
pouring through in spring and autumn people
from great distances to observe them. Others
to fish the streams, which
clear and cold out of the hills and
shady pools where trout
. So it
been from the days many years ago when the first settlers
their houses,
their wells, and
their barns.
Then a strange blight
over the area and everything
to change. Some evil spell
settled on the community: mysterious maladies
the flocks of chickens; the cattle and sheep
and
. Everywhere
a shadow of death. The farmers
of much illness among their families. In the town the doctors
become more and more puzzled by new kinds of sickness appearing among their patients. There
been several sudden and unexplained deaths, not only among adults but even among children, who would be stricken suddenly while at play and die within a few hours.
There
a strange stillness. The birds, for example - where
they gone? Many people
of them, puzzled and disturbed. The feeding stations in the backyards
deserted. The few birds seen anywhere
moribund; they
violently and
not fly. It
a spring without voices. On the mornings that
once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there
now no sound; only silence
over the fields and woods and marsh.
On the farms the hens
, but no chicks
. The farmers
that they
unable to raise any pigs the litters
small and the young
only a few days. The apple trees
coming into bloom but no bees
among the blossoms, so there
no pollination and there
be no fruit.
The roadsides, once so attractive,
now lined with browned and withered vegetation as though swept by fire. These, too,
silent, deserted by all living things. Even the streams
now lifeless. Anglers no longer
them, for all the fish
died.
In the gutters under the eaves and between the shingles of the roofs, a white granular powder still
a few patches; some weeks before it
fallen like snow upon the roofs and the lawns, the fields and streams.
No witchcraft, no enemy action
silenced the rebirth of new life in this stricken world. The people
done it themselves.
(From: Silent Spring by Rachel Carson)
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