The Wind in the Trees

Well, it looks like we in Ottawa have managed to escape Hurricane Sandy’s extensive wrath. The wind was pretty wild for a while during the night, but is down to a stiff breeze today, along with the occasional gust.   And it’s warm. Weirdly so for this time of year.

Still, I’m not one to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth — and I love a good, windy day — so Charlie and I headed out for a short walk along the river again. It’s a very different landscape now, with most of the leaves gone from the trees. With dark clouds scudding across the sky, the woods had an almost ominous feel to them. A sense of waiting.

And the wind…oh, the wind.

By the river, where the grass is dry and the shrubs thin, it hisses and rustles; but in the hardwood stand, where the oaks and maples tower with bared branches, there it has a low, almost unearthly moan…hollow, plaintive, unbearably sad. Almost as if the trees themselves protest the approach of winter.

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