The trees hugely noised the wind, though you had to be near to hear the force. Every branch and early shoot braced backwards or lashed, learning strength; their roots stayed, unmoved by the drama. Grasses bent rapidly green and lighter green, even when noise of the wind diminished. Sunny, but wind chill made you nauseous, so inside you escaped for warmth and protein. July calms down at afternoon window (Old English from Old Norse, ‘wind-eye’) where you look up from your book at the trees, now silently idling, and the grasses, lit with light of the greens their water sustains.