This is in drafts?!!?I love the sound. The wind blew quite a lot in Colorado. When I was a child there. It’s a very comforting sound to me. We used to visit my great-uncle up in the mountains. He lived in a cabin in the woods, and kept wolves. He was actually from Maine, originally, and had been a trapper, I think. There were tall pines all around, and the wind sounded like a train coming through. The smell of the pines was wonderful, too. And wood smoke. There was a river quite a distance from the cabin, and I would go there with my mom to pick watercress. Fond memories.
It was the cottonwoods that made the soothing rustling sound around our house. I remember long evenings at my grandparent’s house, sitting on the porch swing and just listening. I lived with them, right across the alley from my parent’s house, til I started school. There was a huge old cottonwood in their front yard, and I could walk around it, feet and hands clinging to the rough bark, never touching the ground. Hearing the wind blow always brings those days back to mind.
I miss that, sometimes. My grandfather killing a chicken for tomorrow night’s chicken and dumplings, my mom and my gramma baking bread and making apple butter. Fresh from the oven bread, with butter and still warm apple butter. God, I grew up in the Walton’s. We even had a little store us kids would walk to. Once a month, my gramma would send me down to pay the store bill, and the man would let me pick a
small bagful of penny candy.
Reminiscing. It’s a good thing.