Tonight it is the wind. Never quiet, pushing through forest and valley, pine and bare oak. I hear it coming, and the wind gennies spin and howl like wolves, then slow to a mystical fluted song. All the animals are inside tonight, except the chickens, who have gathered in the shelter of the back porch tonight–I am hoping there aren’t coyotes brave enough to snatch one from so close to the house, but you never know. They are tricksters after all.