The play of wind is from the unseen dance of huge air masses. As it swings across the landscape, cleans the staleness of industry, and replaces it with Arial freshness. It serenades the valleys and mountains with the sweet voice of the sky. It can be loud, forceful, chaotic, or gentle like the whisper of a lover across the pillows. Speed, direction, temperature, moisture of the wind together become its musical form. This can play like the tinkle of a harpsichord or with an escalating Prestissimo moving towards hurricane force.

Wind is an interesting noun. It denotes something real: changing air pressure, air moving fast and faster, blowing leaves, flapping flags, filling sails, and eroding farm fields. But it is an insubstantial circus of movement. Like love, you can’t hold it in your hands, but you feel lucky when it brush against your skin.

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