Meadow and Mountain 



poise, says that he never heard the winds of the mountains 

 sing. Well, I suppose he has heard them snore and roar I 

 I am sorry for my friend who has no ear for this wind-music, 

 for I have heard the winds sing. Musical hints of all the 

 wind instruments are there. The bugle blare, the drum roll, 

 the deep organ tones, the Vox Humana they are all in the 

 mystic orchestras of the wind. I have stood under the 

 towering tops of the great Sequoias and felt upon my brow the 

 slow-blown breath of the centuries. Among their high 

 heads are the music-thunders of the wind. The thunder's 

 staccato wakes wild echoes among the mountains. The 

 sublime obligate of the storm has sung for centuries through 

 the tops of these tall trees. There are voices in the wind. 

 There is music in the wind. The wind is not only a factor 

 in the making of beauty in the snow, in the sand, on the 

 sea, in the meadow, on the wheat, but the wind is also a 

 maker of MUSIC everywhere. 



