Sound and Fury

I open the door to sound, as the winds that recently brushed Hawai'i's shores rush past. Air moving past air makes a deep roar. When it gets caught up in fir trees they break it into flowing waves of sound, the string section, violins and cellos coming to mind. The bare limbs of hardwoods emit the higher tone of woodwinds and flutes, accented by rattling branches. The aerial symphony changes in volume and tone as I move up and down the hill, feeding birds and sheep.

I stand at the top of the hill, arms out, feeling the wind under my wings, wanting to join the ravens playing in the updrafts. The air down here is moving much faster than that pushing the clouds above. Perhaps that is what causes the roaring.

It is warm for a Washington winter day. The wind feels good against my body, but I can't fly off, I'm working from home today. I come inside and sit at the computer and notice that the wind has stilled, and the sound of rain on the roof fills the room. A tropical rainstorm visits briefly, and then moves on.

I think of my friends in Hawai'i, the daily rains watering their gardens, picturing the orchids, the pumice soil, feeling the heady humidity. I've been sent a non-electronic Christmas card, a morning greeting from the warm pacific isles. I wonder if there is a replay button.