I Will Now Subject You to My Poetry; Part... I Forget

The kind of day wherein everything roars—
The distant, plosive, tumbling barks of multiple dogs;
The twin engines of a lone, low plane;
The sweeping blades of a helicopter crisscrossing the sky;
But mostly,
          Mostly
Wind
Roars, cresting over the surrounding hills…
Sighs, curling through trees…
Roars, breaking into whispers at the foot of the cliff that overlooks the river…
Its sudden susurrus, an absence,
          Palpable
As thunder.