Windy Dark

[rejectomorph]

All night, the wind has not stilled. From time to time, the windows shake, and always I hear the pines like a rushing stream. Outside, I cannot gaze long at the stars. The cold penetrates my clothing, and the wind makes it cling to my skin. Not even the deep mystery of darkness can entice me to remain. I return to my books and lamplight, and forget the twigs tapping at the window.