It's a warm spring-like day in KC today, and as I sit out on the back porch the the gentle wind rolls through the trees. There is an archaic word for that. Zitherism, the sound of wind through the trees. The word iself seems to roll off your tongue.
I used to really like days like this when I was young. It was my one escape from madding crowd, also known as my family. Nature provided a catharsis for me, a time-out from the whirling wakes created on the sea of everday life. I would lay out in the back yard and listen to the lazy breeze as passed over the plains of North Dakota. No cars, no people, no noise, except for what nature was providing.
I remember one particular day when I was sitting on my grandfathers dock along the slow winding Sheyenne river. Oh, I did have a fishing pole in hand, but I am not even sure if it had bait. But I do remember how perfect that moment in time was. A gentle breeze, the slow Sheyenne, the sun, and me. A peaceful, clear, almost silent time. It was as if you were quiet enough nature itself would take you into its' arms and carry you off with the breeze.
Living in Kansas City it is hard to re-create that type of moment. I can't, but I can get reminded every now and then when the weather is perfect and wind cooperates with the correct amount of zitherism. It is kind of funny how something like wind can remind you of something from your past.