Psithurism Wednesday, October 31, 2018Friday, October 19, 2018Ken It’s a fancy word for the simple sound of leaves whispering in the breeze. We like to name things. Especially when we don’t understand them: illnesses, moods, stars, scent of a baby’s scalp at midnight. Share this poem:TwitterFacebookTumblrRedditEmailLinkedInWhatsAppPinterestLike this:Like Loading... Related