The windows rattle. I hear it outside in the trees. Always in the trees... the pine trees.
I have to go out, be with it, be in it.
It's louder outside. It's everywhere, all encompassing, omnipotent. The sound of the wind in the bare, leafless trees. The much louder sound of the wind in the pines.
Away from the houses, in a field. A huge, full, lone pine tree writhes in the wind. Like an amoeba.
Loud, deafening, insistent. It bends the trunk and moves very branch, every needle.
I know what it wants, I know what it's saying.