You are in a campus garden. In front of you is a pond. The interfering ripples are reflecting alternate realities. The cobwebs are as fragile as the spacetime fabric. Your wand trembles sensing a distress of some sort from passing by colleagues. It’s prolly the tests, assignments, et al. Wishes are made upon falling leaves instead of shooting stars.
There is swaying and there is humming. There is creaking and there is chirping. Pollens dancing in the sunbeam and leaves rustling gently in the evening breeze. The violets are sneaking a peek at you. The doves are spying on the picnickers. Something is out for your blood.