I love to hear the wind whistling with a whoosh and howl and a thud.

As April trudges across the landscape leaving daffodil and mud.
I pause and listen to the birds their carols with rapture sing,
As they gather the last of the dry twigs and take to their wings.
There is a palpable excitement carried on the breeze 
That bends low each blossom-encrusted tree.
The thrill is whipped on the wind, roaring all around town,
The scent of earth reviving our hills of grey-brown.
It blows through in such a hurry, these breezy April days
With Easter and First Communion flurry, we scarce notice spring’s ways.
Too soon the heat will reach us, new flowers rich will bloom,
Before I know how it happens we will pass from May to June.
I won’t pass this way again, I want to taste the season’s joys.
I’ll have to pause and ponder, plug my ears to the noise.
Today I will listen closely to the wind rattle the old window-frame,
Speak soft, whisper slowly, and hear the melody in the rain.