Storm

The eerie whistling wailing sound
left me unsettled--and I'm alone
sipping my coffee as I read, and the sound, it takes me,
makes me shiver in my shoes.

Looking up at the grey sky,
I know that the wind is never shy
to wail and cry
an eerie lullabye
and the clouds are threatening storm,
and here I am alone
wondering when it will be done.

Storms take me that  way.
An errant thought on a gelid day
makes me quiver uncertainly
and the wind's pitch rises surely
the windows tremble as it blows,
an invitation for the snows
to drive in with the knifelike wind.
I pity anyone, wandering
on this cold day.

The wind, in grudging slowness, dies.
I hear its last icy cries.
The spell isover;  I am free
of this fearful uncertainty.
I take my book, my cup,
and rest.


Peace, Ree