The wind whispers yesterday's secrets to the leaves and I stand listening to their stirring, unable to translate yet understanding their excitement. Because i feel the wind brush my face and chill my ears, resonating with songs it picked up on its way to me. It tugs at my jacket and pushes me onward, never idling in one clearing. So I follow the wind back to the birds, who's rejoicing notes are clear and ringing with hallelujah and even though they too communicate without words, I've heard the tune somewhere before. Slightly different but distinct between the crunching sticks and fiery snow covering the forest floor beneath a traveler's boots in Fall.
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