Listening to wind storms

It’s cold out. The kind of cold that makes you open stitch-shut windows. I let the sounds mix. The cool growls of wind rushing through and against everything that stands. It doesn’t sound like an attack. Rather the trees are getting caught up in some primordial waltz. It’s nights like this that make me dream of glass roofs. Staring up into angry heavens rings more truthful than popcorn ceilings.

~ by carik on March 6, 2008.