I’m going to remember this.

~ Live & Learn

It all started with Thursday’s post, Lightly Child, Lightly. Where Cole Arthur Riley writes: “Have you ever stood in the presence of a tree and listened to the wind pass through its leaves? The roots and body stand defiant and unmoved. But listen. The branches stretch out their tongues and whisper shhhhh. Trees make symphonies without their trunks ever moving, almost as if the stillness of their centers amplifies their sound.” 

This post triggered a number of comments.

Beth, a school teacher, teaches me what that sound is: “I so love it too and there is a word for it: psithurism. These sounds of wind in the trees and the rustling of leaves have enchanted so many people over time that they invented a word to describe them: psithurism. Like many words that begin with “ps,” the “p” at the beginning of psithurism is silent, and the word is pronounced sith-err-iz-um.”

Lori, follows by sharing: “I, too, am mesmerized by this sound (and now know what to call it…thank you, Beth!) This passage brought to mind Suzanne Simard’s book, ‘Finding the Mother Tree.’ So much happening below the surface…

Mimi then shares: “The symphony of sound from the trees, sounds that change with the type of leaf that is singing – another gift from Mother Nature. The differences can be subtle, and demand your attention if you’re fortunate enough to stop and listen. Beth taught us both something today – never heard of the word, and I love the way it sounds – its pronunciation is perfect for its definition!”

Caitlin, here next door in NY State, furthers my education.  “My favorite sound — wind through pine trees — happy memories of Northern Ontario summer camp…The verb for the sound is soughing.”  I had to google it. A Verb: soughing (of the wind in trees, the sea, etc.) make a moaning, whistling, or rushing sound. ‘the soughing of the wind in the canopy of branches’.

Kevin, in Concord, CA, “likes sitting under an overhang and listening to rain (and wind) hitting the various leaves in my back garden. We also have a hammock for sitting between trees and watching the leaves rustle in the wind.”

Doug’s favorite soothing sound “is the sound of water in a stream burbling over rocks” and he wonders “if there is a specific word for that sound, too.”

Anneli has “stood under black cottonwoods in Montana and made a little video of the leaves whispering very loudly as the wind passed through the trees. A memorable experience.”

Dale, once again, dropping 10-letter words requiring me to wear a dictionary on my hip to decipher: “I often stand amongst the trees and love the sound. Psithurism from marcescent leaves, particularly. Those leaves, usually oak, that remain on the trees in the winter have a particular sound.”

And for me, I’m with all of you.  Wind through the trees, branches, leaves. Listening to rain. Sitting in hammocks. Stream burbling over rocks.

And yet, there’s one other sound of notable mention.

I’m standing up on the breakwall this morning. It’s minutes after sunrise, waiting for it to lift from the behind clouds.

I’m looking down on The Cove. Gulls, geese, shorebirds, all feeding on low tide.

And here they come.

My Canadians.

The pair lift off about 50 yards away.

It’s too much of a damn coincidence that they come directly at me, a fellow Canadian.  And I mean directly at me.

It happened so fast, I could only get one shot off. That one, above. But that was so less important than the sound. Those Wings, those beats, that rhythm.  That heavy whoop whoop whoop.

And back to Cole Arthur Riley in “This Here Flesh“:

“When God made her, he covered her in rich brown velvet—skin so soft you find yourself stroking it more for your comfort than for hers. And when she stretches those soft limbs over you, she splays herself open and lets it all fall on you like a weighted blanket. Hers is a heaviness that soothes.”

When God made her gramma, She made these Canada Geese too —  This Here flesh.

And there they were. Those wings. Splayed open over top of me, comforting like a weighted blanket.

I’m going to remember this.

Notes:

  • Photo: DK @ Daybreak. 7:12 am, March 20, 2022. 51° F, Stamford, CT Other photos from this morning here and here..
  • Post title Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle.

39 thoughts on “I’m going to remember this.”

  3. And that is why we keep coming back, David. You have built a wonderful community. All of us who come here and comment learn from each other as well as from you. I think I’ve mentioned it before but it’s not just any blogger where I read all the comments. You’ve surrounded yourself with a fabulous bunch! Soughing! That was the word I was originally looking for when I discovered marcescent! 😉

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      1. Here’s a tidbit: Owl flight feathers are constructed such that they can fly without noise – stealth predators! I learned a bit about that when I walked through a through of trees (shelterbelt in the USA, planted to conserve farm soil in the Dust Bowl 1930s and later), I felt a tap or rush of air on my head. A great horned owl, protecting her nest, had dive-bombed me! I wasn’t aware of her till I spotted her flying in front of me. They can cause you serious physical injuries this way.

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  7. No matter what we are doing when Canadian geese fly overhead or where we happen to be standing, we collectively strain our necks and ears in search of them. Then when we do spot them, we stay with them until they are out of sight and earshot. It is a beautiful thing to witness, an event that makes one’s day every time it happens, a sort of coming home, especially if you are Canadian. 😊

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  10. What a lovely post and conversation about nature, David! I missed the earlier post about trees, but really enjoyed this one! My favourite pongamia tree has been taking a break, getting new leaves. I’ll soon be able to sit in the shade again in the afternoons, listening to the wind and watching the birds and squirrels.
    Those swans are so delightful!

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  11. Great post…I try to make time, daily to read your thoughtful, grounding posts with beautiful photos…though sometimes it is a few days before I can visit…I always think of your shares an extension of self care for me…I appreciate you and your effort…/// On Wednesday morning my sweet hubby and I were at a small farm with a barn…the Canada Geese settled in the field on the other side of the apple trees, 800 to 1,000 strong or maybe more…My husband was over looking at the chickens…I was just about to exit the barn when I heard the geese and watched them take off, such an experience!!! I said to myself in my head, nope you stay in the barn and watch! I had wet hair and I know better than to step out under the a flock of geese (I’ve been bombed with excrement from Geese and birds many times and sometime when I have wet hair) I so enjoyed the gift of watch in safety from the barn…I walked to the car as my hubby was headed to the car, I got there first waiting on my side of the car…he was shaking his head and said well…I said what, he said the car has been bombed…he got the paper towels from the trunk and started wiping down the areas on the car…I’m so glad I stayed just inside the barn doors, watching & listening to the majestic few minutes of beauty, aloft…

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  13. You are so nice dear David, you always bring us beautiful things/words/thoughts/images/…etc. This is great post, I will share with my readers too. I loved so much, so much. Thank you, Love, nia

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  16. I seem to have missed a great and good post – shall head over asap. in any case, Dale is right, you’ve assembled an incredible bunch of fine followers. They are interesting, informed, literate, intelligent and often funny too!! I’m happy to be counted part of your ‘gang’.

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