The Howling

Living, breathing
howling, surging;
snow pours from the sky
with rage unmatched.
Branches bend,
creak and groan.
Wind screams
through the eaves
of the house
like a wailing
witch from a
horror story.
The storm is
alive with angry
menace bent
on destruction.
Nothing stands
in it’s way.
Birds flail
for purchase,
Fox and Grouse
buried deep.
Coyote is silent
in the face
of the monster.
We hide entombed
under piles
of blankets
praying to the
Gods of electricity
that ours
does not fail.
Our inadequacy
is laughable.
Icy fingers creep
through the cracks
of the house.
Pulling at the windows,
scratching at the doors,
fighting with
all their might
to gain entry.
And we in our
impotence, wait.

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