All day we waited for the wind to come. Outside it was gray, rain dreary gray, but calm. The birds sat heavy and bedraggled in the trees.
Now as I write I can hear that the wind has come. It shakes the house like a ship out at sea. It throws the sharp rain at the windows. What blossom that is left on the trees will be ripped and torn and sodden in the morning. The day was calm, but the night is dark and fierce. All cats are curled in the warmth of home.
Time to dream.
