Full moon, the "Wolf" moon, shining brightly this morning. Yesterday cold Arctic air was ushered in on a brisk northwest wind. Pine trees sighing outside my office, traffic signs rattling in the breeze, flags totally unfurled. The clanging of metallic clasps against the flagpoles made me think of the masts of wooden ships on stormy seas.
The winds which passed over my dwelling were such as sweep over the ridges of mountains bearing the broken strains, or celestial parts only, of terrestrial music. The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation in uninterrupted, but few are the ears that hear it.
Walden
Henry David Thoreau
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