Her Screaming Shrills

The wind...

Is literally
Howling; wailing...
In me...
Too.

I am called to the window,
My sprite ears, and wings ready,
To fly out and dance my sadness away...
I...
Watch myself bend over and fall "out the window",
Head first and diving-
a drooping flower
Overboard
A hailing rainstorm to wind.

Then,
When I think my fairy wings may carry me,
I see them getting thrashed and beaten...
So I quickly return
To my imagination's eye,
And stand just there; watching.
The Howling,
Screaming,
Scaling,
Whipping, wind
Scathing.
I feel her.
the howling. Screaming, thrashing torments that strike at this land from the chaos, my God...
And she, this wind,
Is also me...
I feel her.

Something's happening, I know it is...
Somewhere...
And I cry, writing,
As the only way the observer ever documents history,
And accounts the
mind's moment of art,
Or imagination,
Or stories, untold.

Sharp and nasty are her gusts....
Something screams...
There are screams in a far, far distance...

But they ripple.

I understand.