Voices on the Wind Open Theme
Learning with winds by Lars Samson It had to have been those sneaky, late-afternoon breezes — that first fall in high desert. Almost cold, coming from darkness crouched behind the mountains. Whispering, sometimes losing patience and building to an insistent but civil exhale. Nudging branches to flap arms for my attention. Or subtly mime their disbelief. Winds here are easy to misread. Especially for city folk not used to unprocessed lands and forces that know we are their guests. Air needs listening as friend. Holding each word and silence to feel its gentle beating. We forget they’ve roamed land and sea. All four corners, before drawn. Touching places never to be seen. Reaching to the edge of their extinction. Heady stuff when you can’t grasp earth or water. It must have been while night seeped up the back slopes of the Whetstones. Hearing leaves take a breath and steps unseen but true. Learning to turn face away from the howling and point ear into their voice. Baring stillness and another lesson.