by Aldo Leopold

The wind that makes music in November corn is in a hurry. 
The stalks hum, the loose husks whisk skyward in half-playing swirls, and the wind hurries on...
A tree tries to argue, bare limbs waving, but there is no detaining the wind.


As featured on
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Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all.
Aldo Leopold
Aldo Leopold

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