Wednesday, 30 July 2014

the song of the trees and wind

It has been ten years since I've lived near trees. Obviously it has been long enough for me to forget what wind sounds like when it moves through leaves and branches.

All day the wind has been here. All day that gentle wind-blowing sound, hollow and yet full of energy and motion, crashing like a wave, fills the air. Sometimes the wind's song makes me think I am at sea. Sometimes I completely forget the year and am unexpectedly transported back in time to a place where I lived under the canopy of old maples and oaks. Oh yes, now I remember the how the wind needs the trees to sing certain songs.

Trees teach me all sorts of things. Studying the patterns of their winter branches, counting their spring blossoms, finding their summer shade, and collecting their Autumn leaves encourages me to notice and accept the passage of time.  But trees also teach me how to play and how to listen.  Have a go at playing pickle-in-the-middle with the sun and a cluster of high branches.  Or have a good long listen to how the trees work with the wind, accepting graciously wind's powerful energy.  Even after all these years, the trees seem surprised by the call of the wind's strength.

The sound of the wind is like no other sound, doing exactly what it is supposed to do: move and breathe and sing through trees, around barley, howling over rolling hills, so that it can finally land somewhere close to you and somewhere close to me.


1 comment:

  1. Having lived among and around trees for ever, I have not thought about them like this before. This is good. The other day, Glenn and I were walking along the edge of the reservoir near our house. It is a big, big lake... and the sound that the small waves make as they break on the shore is so different than other water sounds: the ocean, a brook, a swiftly flowing river. As I listened to the waves landing softly on the beach of the reservoir, I was brought back immediately, to my time as a girl on the shores of our lake in Salisbury, CT. It was the same sound (same size body of water, same kind of 'landing strip') and I was moved by the strength of sound and memory and emotion. Thanks for this. XOXO