Perhaps winter’s wind is a song of longing with nothing to brush against save the cold limbs of the season, a kind of mournful moan and, at night, a lonely howl that begs the sleepers wake.
Or maybe winter’s wind moves through the trees, not like a sheet pulled from the basket of clothes, not like that, but a music closer to human speech between a parent and a child, a whispering that wraps the body in its hold, warm as wool.
Monday, February 6, 2012
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Tonight I feel more tenderness toward the wind.
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