windy walk

Through the maple leaves, the wind hisses and whispers, trying to get my attention.

Through the pine across the street, the sound is more like two hands rubbing in that game we did as children, “making it rain” with soft hand-bound friction.

But through that other tree, the tree I have no name for, though it towers over the rest on the small road, the wind blew through the leaves with the percussion of hundreds of muffled castanets, clattering as I approached, as if in greeting.

My camera couldn’t capture the music of the wind, today.