The Sound of Wind

The wind is whipping, screaming across our asphalt roof, its pitch frightening and captivatingly terrifying in its volume. The temperature outside stays steady, the mercury assuring anyone who looks that it's not as cold as the wind might attest.

But, oh! The wind! It is a powerful force, and one that cannot be tamed. It can be, with some wood framing, insulation and siding, endured, but never controlled. It hits hard, smacking those in its path, chapping cheeks, moving piles of snow and tossing aside objects left in its path.

Safe in my house last night, cushioned in between panes of glass and surrounded by smells of soup simmering the stove, the wind called to me last night. Its enchanting whistle begged me to come outside and listen, with no impediments, to what the wind had to say. Yes, the TV told me what the wind was supposed to bring, but listening to the wind itself made me certain that the promised snow was on its way.

The wind is a force that cannot be tamed and, sadly enough, it is also a force that cannot be captured; its force, sound and fury cannot be conveyed. Still, though, I tried.