The street trees are at their leafiest now. The wind stirs them, makes them dance to its commands. They flex, they creak, they roar and as they do they make their own music, the counterpoint melody to the wind, symbiotic layers of sound. The orchestra is in full flow.
Its still early, the morning rush has not yet fully begun. The occasional car rolls slowly past. Goldfinches chatter. Blackbird sings. Sparrows cheep. Woodpigeon coos. Crows call, getting louder as they fly past. Front doors get closed. Children shout and laugh. Yet beneath it all is the wind, the endlessly beautiful and magical sound of the wind through the leaves. Whispers shouted loudly, whispers that could tell us such secrets.
Its only the sound of one windy morning, captured by a microphone. Only that and so much more, because in these sounds are more tales than a thousand words or a thousand pictures could tell.