The Bellows

The kind of day wherein everything roars—
distant, plosive, tumbling barks of multiple hounds;
twin engines of a lone, low plane;
sweeping blades of a helicopter crisscrossing the sky;
but mostly,
          mostly
Wind
roars, cresting over the surrounding hills…
sighs, curling through trees…
roars, breaking into whispers at the foot of the cliff that overlooks the river…
Its sudden susurrus, an absence,
          palpable
as thunder.

I wrote this last year, but today is this sort of day, so I'm dragging it back out and blowing the dust off. :)