She Was Frightened Of The Wind

She Was Frightened Of The Wind

She was frightened of the wind at night,

The way it pressed its mouth against the glass.

It spoke in knocks and low complaints,

As if it knew her name at last.

She kept the curtains drawn in close,

Let lamps stand guard along the room.

The air felt watchful when it moved,

A restless thing without a bloom.

The wind would slip beneath the door,

Cold fingers tracing wooden floors.

It carried scents of distant roads,

And whispered of unlatched before.

She learned its moods by listening,

The sudden hush, the rising plea.

Some nights it sounded almost kind,

Like grief that wanted company.

Her fear was shaped by other days,

When voices changed without a sign.

The wind reminded her too well,

Of how the gentle turns unkind.

Still she would stand and face the pane,

Her breath a fog she could not hide.

The glass would tremble, hold, then rest,

A thin agreement made inside.

One evening calm replaced the noise,

The air lay still, a waiting sea.

She felt the room exhale with her,

No threats, no vows, just quiet being.

She left the window slightly wide,

Let shadows pass, then drift away.

The wind went on without a word,

And did not ask her heart to stay.