The wind sings through the Monterey Pines, a short flourish overture with a low drone, mid-range whip, and a treble trickling of cottonwood leaves like a swift stream. And above it all, the trill of birds add sparkles of color as the oratorio begins. It moves with a sweet sadness and breaks down to an adagio of emotional wispiness with distant layers of intrigue that menace and add tension. A squirrel hops to the safety of a tree branch and stares back, flicking its tail. 

A crescendo begins with a low flurry, barely noticeable at first; then a breeze turns to wind with gusts that swirl and spin and grow larger, now a rush and force far more than expected, overtaking all emotion with coercion that rumbles past my ears. Dust and flying bits of wildness circle, only to pull back with dashes of overlapping melody and harmonic embellishment that add heart and feeling as it recedes into the distance with a soft rustle of leaves. A continuous one-time composition and performance for the inhabitants of the forest. Brava.