Each was expressing itself in its own way—singing its own song, and making its own peculiar textures…. The profound bass of the naked branches and boles booming like waterfalls; the quick, tense vibrations of the pine-needles, now rising to a shrill, whistling hiss, now falling to a silky murmur; the rustling of laurel groves in the dells, and the keen metallic click of leaf on leaf—all this was heard in easy analysis when the attention was calmly bent…

Gordon Hempton, John Grossmann, One Square Inch of Silence-…, loc. 1649