the wind is an unbroken sigh in the trees. There’s no word or phrase to mimic that sound, you have to be hearing it to know it. I’ve caught it a few times on my recent tramps, one season nudging another into the past. We climb out of the wood into a field of sunflowers, spot the Eyecatcher raised jagged on a slope, a tease of ruin for the longhorn cows down at Rousham.
