November 30 — Beard whistle

It’s a warm, windy night and I’m facing the worst of it. The wind hits me square and solid from the open water. I turn around slowly, in increments of a step or a half-step. When I face away from it I hear a small buzzing — almost a whistle — at my right cheek. It’s whisking over my beard, which is as long as it’s ever been.

The wind whistling in my beard. That’s some good imagery. I’m surprised I’ve never heard it before.

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