© 2017 John Richard Anderson
Howling wind, calls out sad and longing,
sighing solemnly through the trees.
Not threatening, but showing off its gusts,
warning of gale building up, with storm looming.
The howling is sad and threatening, like a lone wolf crying for company.
Now the wind roars breathy in the trees,
which bend yielding to the force, but resilient in submission.
The howling is haunting in its caress,
foreboding with its insistent persistence to get in.
Seeping through the cracks of shuttered doors and windows
stifling comfort and landing buffeting blows on peace and calm.
The howls surge and wane to whistling sighs and exhales.
The howls come and go, irregular and unpredictable.
No choice, but to wait it out, regaling, and enjoying
the sound of howls raging outside, not within.
No need to scowl, to the howling wind, while the roof holds.