The Wind is Howling
Something I wrote yesterday...
The wind is howling like a swirling storm outside. It rages on. In the darkness it called me out, trees beckoning with leafy hands. Older leaves grew tired of the pulling and loosened their grip a little, then snapped off and spiralled frantically downwards. Leaves already apart from their trees skipped and scraped along the ground twirling up and then falling again. Tree-cloth pulls loose from the bending trees limbs, spiralling along with the leaves.
On dark ground my feet tread unheard. Above the wind howls, trees swoosh and groan, at my feet leaves swirl. Wind lashes the trees like waves lash the coast in a storm, like to the storm waves, the trees rise and fall. Leaves blown parallel to the ground strain to hold on, twigs and branches bend and snap. Leaves, bark, twigs and limbs, litter the ground.
A new day comes and the wind roars on, grass flattens itself, leaves and tree-cloth tumble to the ground. All day clouds pass overhead. Wind whistles down the chimney. The wind is howling like a swirling storm outside.