The wind rattles through the streets on this dark lonely night, like a raspy voice
from long ago, whispering secrets and telling of stories old. To whom do the
solitary turn when they are In need of counsel? I sit and think as the wind
continues to blow ravenously outside my bedroom window. What is it trying to
say?
The ghostly voice of nature persists with its song throughout the night. Rattling
through the attic like a stranger invading a private place. We are its audience,
vacant listeners to the sound of its clandestine wisdom.
This atmospheric phenomenon whistles past our ears. Almost like the lost cries
of the destitute dead that are bound in limbo. Wind evokes their refrain and
blows it across the earth at night and into the minds of the living.
Lonesome spirits race against the rising dawn, circling the world for all
Eternity. Doomed to rally against every golden sunrise, deprived of peaceful
slumber. The murmurs in the wind sends shivers down my spine as I fall
into an endless dream.
