Wind in the Blood

The summer wind howls in the dark. I haven’t switched on the lights yet. The wind seems to sweep through the glass of the windows, immune to man made barriers. I move to the sliding door, and hesitate, watching as the wind swings the trees around easily, with power. Then I open the door. I spread my arms wide. The cold wind rips through me, as though I have no body and am only soul. The dusk is dark gray and fading, and it’s just me and the wind. We breathe. We dance. We talk. We are alive beneath the steadily becoming stars.