how lonely the wind is
when the cold freezes time
and in the small hours of the deep night
it wanders
and wanders
alone.
softly she speaks
caressing windows and doors
whispering for a friend
but alas, with no response.
louder
louder
she begins to wail
rising up in a deafening crescendo
spiraling swirling up
till the howling wave of the ocean crashes on the shore
and sweeps through the tips of trees
and shadows under the moon
turn into frantic claws to rip and harvest a victim.
and as I see her beckoning hand from my window
a hollow shiver
creeps up my spine
and reverberates through my small lost soul.
