Despite the relative calm on the ground, the tops of the trees thrashed about, roaring like a churning sea while branches clattered together or tumbled to the ground: natural percussion, accompanied at intervals by the screech of swinging metal gates or a wail as the wind fluted across the tops of them.
This has made me want to research music created from nature: somewhere there must be a musical Andy Goldsworthy?
Pools and lakes and rivers of snow still lying about in places
while elsewhere the melt-water runs down the road
but plenty of greenery too.
Wind-assisted on the way down the hill arriving back slightly quicker than usual, breathless but very pleased with ourselves.
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