(The repeated bird call in this segment seems to be a Magnolia Warbler)
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.
I couldn’t help but think of the lines from Far over the misty mountains cold (from An Unexpected Party, The Hobbit) as we sat before the campfire one morning on a hillside in Cypress Hills Provincial Park. That night, and into the morning the wind had been blazing through the lodgepole pine tops, surging and swelling like waves on a stormy shore. However, at ground level the wind was subdued enough that I could still do a binaural recording without distorting the microphones.
No wolves howled that night, and there was no dragon’s ire to disturb us, (or at least if there was, I misinterpreted it as the roar of a Harley Davidson motorcycle) and, thankfully, the only fire that blazed was the one we started in our camp firepit.
Beautiful, Adrian. I hope to hear a wolf's howl one day...