Having lived in open rural environments for much of my life, I have an awe for the voice of the wind over all else. It dazzles and entertains by rolling the grasses of the plains into seas of gold, the leaves of trees into turning plates of color and orchestras of sounds, and it tickles the tops of lakes into sparkling visions of a multitude of dancing suns. It also spills icy winter storms over towering mountains onto perennial flowers warming unaware in grassy meadows, and it pulls the blue of the sky into a yellow stillness that quiets the birds and insects before tearing apart miles with a tunnel of rage. The wind is the creator of artful rock arches as well as their destroyer; it is the giver and taker of water and thus the tidings of pleasure and suffering, life and death. The wind has much to say to us, well worth our listening too.