A quiet walk during the last lighted moments can bring subtle perspective, especially after a dusting of snow illuminates and insulates the surroundings. On one such walk yesterday all was quiet and oddly light though well after sunset. A cool breeze curled its way through the tops of the trees, eliciting moans and creaks of protest from old sleepy hickories and stately oaks. Closer to the trail, nearer to my ear, a conspicuous whisper whisked past, causing me to stop and turn, searching for its source. Crinkled and curled, the orange leaves still clinging on the beech understory stared back at me, sussurating in the gloaming.
beechy whispers19 01 2007