Now close the windows and hush all the fields:
If the trees must, let them silently toss;
No bird is singing now, and if there is,
Be it my loss.
It will be long ere the marshes resume,
It will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.
(Robert Frost)
Impossible to see in photos, one of those times that you really "had to be there..." but I tried to snap pics of the swirling leaves and whirlwind pockets. It looked like the leaves were being torn off the branches, some invisible spirit shaking the neighborhood. And, it was loud! Photos don't work to show this, but, will at least remind me of it months from now.
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