Have you ever noticed the sound of wind? How it changes tune in the different seasons?
In the summer, a heavy wind blows steady from the south. The leaves stir on the trees and rub a constant melody, amplified by a Mockingbird’s recital, over-and-over again. Harsh buzzing sometimes interrupts, but the wind-song always returns, a constant reassurance spiked with a touch of laziness.
Fall turns the wind’s sound into a crackle. Leaves clash together, and the grasses turning dormant rustle, all in a tympanic accompaniment to the constant note of change. The gales drop an octave to create a sad dirge.
Winter cold fronts make the north wind howl, far from cliché as it thrashes against the house. Each gust brings a different pitch as if banshees ride the wind like surfers, crashing atop the roof when a whitecap collapses upon itself, the eerie whistles of air seeping through the cracks their laughter.
The soft breezes of spring warm the south Texas air. They come through with a hum, a vibrancy that awakens the Earth. On their waves are the minute sounds of insects, and at night, the deep groans of frogs. The soft puffs brush against your ear, and you hear life.
There's another sound of wind in the summer, that of a freight train when a tornado approaches. In Daughter of the South Wind, though, Dawn finds a different tune altogether.