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the wind

Incessant wind, howling over exterior walls. Treetop branches bent to cruel angles, don’t fall. Passing car.. heavy beat… otherwise the street is bare, save for the eerie atmosphere.

Lone dove coo’ing on my window sill… 8.30pm.. doesn’t seem right, on this strange, moonless spring night.

Now the wind is much louder and I can’t help but wonder at the shadows of crazed branches, thrashing the ceiling above my bed. Taking in the moonlit floor, I turn to look outside again and see the tail-lights of an enormous, night-cloaked jet, screeching away from shore.