Once the decision has been made for Sal to head off on her epic cross-country journey with her grandparents, everything seems to move incredibly quickly. Now that it's a certainty that the three will soon be on their way, there's a palpable sense of urgency in the air, as if there must be no delay.

During the week before the journey begins it seems that the sound of the wind is saying, "Hurry, hurry, hurry." At night, even the silent darkness whispers, "Rush, rush, rush." This isn't literally the case, of course. What Sal is doing here is projecting her own sense of the forthcoming journey's importance onto the world around her.

Having grown up on a farm, it's no wonder that Sal accords such significance to the elements. In rural folklore it's often the case that people report having been addressed by the elements. It's an expression of the deep, almost spiritual connection that country folk have with the environment.

Whatever the wind or the silent darkness might say, though, Sal doesn't want to leave. For good measure, she doesn't expect to survive the trip, but deep down she knows she must go. She knows that she must reach Idaho for her mother's birthday, and it's this imperative that seems to manifest itself in the call of the wind.