Psithurism: The sound of rustling leaves or wind in the trees.
I love this word.
When I first heard this word, it brought to mind the hundreds of walks over 14 years that I had taken with Digger.
Each season brings with it a different tone from the leaves.
Winds before a Spring thunderstorm, when the leaves are still young. A soft and gentle whisper.
A humid breeze on a hot July day with the leaves barely rustling, as if they too need to seek shelter from the heat.
A chilly October morning breeze blowing through trees that have begun their yearly change from soft and fluttery to crisp and quick. An entirely different dance they do.
One by one they fall and float upon that cool breeze.
Along comes a gust of wind and the leaves whirl and fly from the trees as if they are taking a final leap only to land on the ground for us to shuffle through as we listen to the crunch and breathe in their end of season scent.
With the breeze, acorns tumble to the ground losing their wee hats lying ready for the critters to come and gather.
Thousands of leaves. Their Fall sound is different, their dance is different, yet soothing and peaceful at each stage if you only take the time to listen.
Psithurism; a soft word bringing to mind whispers, gentle breezes, long walks and change.
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