We’ve silenced the voices of nature. It’s not that the wind says nothing. It is that we can’t hear the wind over the ringing of our own industry.
The water speaks. Where are we?
The wind blew hard and quickly yesterday, trying to carve itself into our attention. I sat on a rock and listened. The wind blew. It tossed against my hooded head, licked my ear. It spoke in a language of trees and breezes. The hawks hung on the wind, rode its eddies and currents over me, circled. I watched. I sat and watched. I stretched out on the rock and moss and watched.
The plants push up through silence to speak sun languages. We are deaf to them.
When I put my hand to the Earth, it soothes my cells. It tells me this: you are of me, you are being taken care of.
The wind blows hard and cold. The rocks and the trees shelter me. I listen to the language of the wind over the land, and begin to understand.