My knees burn as our group limbers up the hill. Moans of my classmates fill the muggy as we trudge on. This once lush tundra is now just sand and dust, nature's ghost town.   Something scurrys in the melancholy brush to our left, making twelve little heads stop and turn. The world stops in our tracks as we exchange glances asking if anybody saw what it was, not a word.  Up and up we go, the only sound present is that of the heavy breathing of twelve eighth  graders . Our breath and steps fall in unison as we trek on, breath in, breath out, step left, step right. We soon leave behind the sandy wasteland and we scale the meandering trail into the forest. Our feet now bedded by a layer of pine, the matching potent smell turns the bitter air sweet and sappy. The midday sun shines through the pine needles, leaving only tiny pockets of sun still shining on the carpeted floor.  This forest’s quiet ambiance is broken by the screeching of a seemingly invisible owl. Hidden by the dense green foliage the only presence of this forest dweller is the lingering hoo-hoo-hoo.