The loveliest part of my walk through the pre-rain scene this morning was its sound. At first I could not hear or feel the seemingly phantom breeze, but I could see it pushing through last year’s leaves, the ones that still clung to the birch trees; and I could see it move a few of the branches filled with arriving leaves, the ones that looked like soft green brush strokes woven into a brown painting. Then, the velocity increased with an audible crescendo, rolled around for a bit, and fell away, back into the silent distance. Quiet. Listen. It’s serene.