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.