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Visiting an abandoned farm in the outer woods of Luvia village on a rainy and windy day I come upon the windy howl from one really old and big aspen surrounded by younger firs. It was a little before the farmyard, so that the gusts could gather some strength from the more open yard behind. There’s water dripping and some very small rain, but the sound that sounds like a rain shower in the end of every gust is not rain, it’s the branches of the firs. I’m not sure if I’ve ever paid attention to this rather distinctive sound before. It was clearly heard against the jet like lower sound from the big aspen and the microphones were placed under one branch.
