The Wind Blows Through Me

The wind blows through me and whistles as it goes... that lonesome chimney whistle that wind makes on cold nights when there should be a fire in the fireplace, but the firewood is soaked through with rain and there's no one with whom to share a fire anyway. That's the whistle the wind makes as it blows through me. So my spirit curls up on the couch in the dark, under blankets that don't keep the wind out.

My body is surely planting petunias or riding a bicycle or smiling at visitors in the driveway. My spirit crawls further under the blankets, goosebumped and blocking ears against the wind.