Glacier National Park

'When the wind lifts up the Hemlock's voice, it is roaring like the Pine's, no keening like the Spruce's. The Hemlock whistles softly to itself. It raises it's long, limber boughs and lets them drop again with a sigh, not sorrowful, but letting fall tranquility upon us.'
                                                                                                                 -Donald C. Peattie

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