We live on top of a hill with trees all around–in a ravine behind the house and in thick rows on the edges of the property. Dogwood, maple, locust, apple, oak, ash, birch, several variety of pine, and others I can’t name..
They speak to me all day, every day, in voices soft and sibilant, slurred and shushing, fierce and bold. They whisper, they crash and bang. They can snap and crack when covered with ice; they can sing lullabies when in full leaf.
the summer night in the breeze stories told before I sleep