Stirring

Gusty winds come and go all night. As most leaves yet remain, two sounds emerge; The intimate rustle of oaks, which is like stiff, ruffled skirts and petticoats worn by a gaggle of laughing girls who rush to some party for which they are late: and (from higher up, as it seems) the aspirate, rising and falling whisper of the pines, which has a hollowness that is like the echo of a crowd's roar diminished by distance. Other sounds punctuate this ongoing stir. Twigs crack, acorns fall, branches scrape groans and squeals, and fallen leaves skitter along the street. Then the wind ceases for a while, and quiet reveals the chirring katydids until the air is again stirred. I can hear the wind approach, and then listen to it diminish as it departs, again and again. The autumn night is an animated place.

Very late, the thin smile of the waning moon rises, but isn't there long before the dark sky begins to glow with deep blue. By then, Orion is past meridian. Three months from now, this time of morning will find him sinking into the pine woods to the west, and winter will be here. Those nights, the wind will cut and bite, and will bring no conceit of rustling skirts to mind. It is early autumn's wind that blows delightful fancies, while the night air is yet deliciously cool, not cold, and shivers are more apt to be a pleasure than a sign of discomfort. This has been the first night of autumn wind this year. I hope for many more.

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Sunday is here again. I wasn't expecting it so soon. I feel as though a day or two were missing from the last week. I must pay closer attention.

( Sunday Verse )

Eek

A whole bunch of people showed up in my house, and truncated the day. There was still wind, though. After the people left, I went out and let it fix my brain by blowing away all the mental residue of the disruption. Unfortunately, the wind was unable to fix the clock. I will see if that can be done later tonight. Right now, I'm still running late. Things to do, things to do.