Sometimes I wish I knew how to identify trees and call them by name. I mean oak, cottonwood, birch, elm, and the like.
Although maybe they all have individual names as well. Maybe their Maker calls them each by name, like He does with the stars (Psalm 147:4). I wouldn’t put it past Him.
Whether or not I know what type of trees they are, I love to look at the green, leafy things then close my eyes to listen.
In addition to the fly buzzing around my head, I hear the breath of heaven weaving between the branches of the tree.
It sounds differently in each tree — the pine needles nearly whistle. A tree with stiff, small leaves seems to tinkle. And another rustles low and clear.