There is a windstorm going on outside.
It is breathing in and out. Deep, long, laboring breaths.
Though tormented and erratic, it seems to keep a cadence.
There seems to be thought behind it. Thought behind the wind.
The rush of wind over my skin, the way it dances in my hair, rustles through my clothes, and passes through me, through my veins and through my skin and out through my fingertips; I cannot live without.
I cannot see it. It is colorless motion. But it is alive. More alive than most things I know. I can feel it. More vividly, more melodically, more personally than any other force in nature. I can feel it consume me, take hold of me. It bundles its' energy all around me, wraps me up tightly, and takes me away.
It whispers and taunts, invites and retreats, calms and excites, soothes and invokes mystery.
And tonight…it lulls me to sleep quietly, beautifully, and peacefully outside my bedroom window.