This is a dicey night for breathing. Air moves. Rather, it rushes. Something cold and northerly pounds against my windowpanes like one-hundred shoulders—in flight or pursuit, I cannot tell which. Lightning flashes. Thunder booms. There is wind and rain and snapping tree branches, snapping trees, all the remaining leaves whirling up in a maddening gyre, spinning furiously to a music that hisses through what remains in the fields. I have my ear to the glass, my hand on the window latch. There are old superstitions about stolen breath, but I am curious, and too snug anyway.


  1. The storm just arrived here in western New England. Heavy, heavy rains. Winds will come later. Pressure so low my hounds seek refuge in their dog beds, nestled in for an extra days rest.
    Glad to have a roof over our heads.

  2. these descriptions are incredible!! make me wish i was there.

  3. The wind is still whipping today, and fwwwwf! It's cold. But it also wakes me up, makes it impossible for me to stand still. In this moment, that's a good thing. Thanks for the comments, you two!


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