The wind has not come here tonight. There are breezes now and then, rattling the leaves, and pulling the heat from my skin, but mostly, the air is still. Yet there is not the silence of stillness. I hear the wind. It sounds from the canyon, or from the higher ridges, or the lower, and sometimes from the treetops nearby, and yet the wind itself never reaches me. How the sound carries on a cold night! I see the wind high above, as well, making the moonlit clouds race. The clouds are not dense enough to threaten snow, and seldom entirely conceal the waning moon. They are diaphanous, shimmering, and never still. I' sure the distant sound of wind will evoke them in my dreams.