The Sound of Winter

Winter. Rain, wind, mud, cold. It's difficult to adjust to winter weather after the glories of summer. I find myself reluctant to leave the house, not wanting to face the rain and wind. Once I'm out I feel invigorated, alive - the reality is much better than the expectation.

After redigging a trench around my outbuilding, I decide I need a change in attitude. I walk to the top of the hill and stand overlooking the valley, looking for what is good and special about a stormy winter's day.

And sounds come to me. Amazingly loud, but so pervasive they can be ignored. The fir tree is a full-bodied baritone. The maples are tenors. Leaves clap and small tree trunks beat a syncopated percussion. The world sings the song of the wind, each element in its own voice. Ravens fly by, adding a deep, rough accent note. Higher in the sky hawks soar, effortlessly riding powerful currents. The clouds look like sand patterned by waves.

The wind rushing past my face has crossed an ocean, rustled palm trees in Hawaii, teased white caps off of Pacific waves. Where will it stop? Does this wind move tropical air up to the arctic? How long does the journey take? In another month or two it will march back south, bringing cold, crystal clear days and icy nights.

This world is a wondrous place. I turn my back to the wind and return to my warm house.