The Wind

The wind is angry.

I wish I knew why,

So I could sit beside it,

And whisper calming words.

Maybe it would fall asleep,

and the trees would cease to sway.

But right now,

As I sit on my bed glancing out the rain-soaked window,

I cannot understand the tortured, twisted howls,

As they fall from the murky grey sky.

I think I can hear someone crying.

Someone far off in the distance.

The wind is angry.

It lifts the red and orange leaves high in the sky,

And causes them to twist and turn and thrust.

Suddenly, I see that the leaves are dancing.

The trees are swaying to music,

And the rain is creating a steady beat.

I think I can hear someone laughing.

Someone nearby.