The winds of change are blowing outside.
Rocketing.
Howling.
Rattling the tree branches.
Shaking the window panes.
I rest inside my cozy house and watch the blustering and blowing.
The rain streaming.
I pray it does not come in,
that it does not blow down my warm house.
I think to the others who have no houses, who wander out in the dark, in the cold.
Those poor souls blown about.
The winds are a trumpet of change,
the pronouncement that once again the seasons are shifting.
But they shake us up and stir our thoughts.
Make us long for comfort and refuge.
And good company too.
Dark nights filled with the growls of the skies.
A reminder to never take the warmth or the dry for granted.
A time to cherish fire, hot tea, and far-off tales.
A time for snuggles, long glances, and quiet reflection.
Haunting, and powerful, and beautiful all at once.
Each stormy breath turbulent and restless.
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