The wind is gusting around the house.
Making an eerie keening sound,
Like someone grieving.
Scattering the leaves
Causing these old windows to rattle
Like old bones.
Should I fling wide the door
And let it inside?
Or shall I go out from this shelter
And brave nature itself.
Feel the wind whipping through my hair
The leaves blowing around my face.
Would it carry me away?
With those very same leaves,
Julie -September 1, 1997