The North Wind
Outside the window, a naked willow quakes. The spindly branches and narrow trunk strain and rebound against the sustained wind. My room’s quiet warmth belies the scene I observe. Cracking the window, a rush of frozen air bursts forth, and it brings with it the howling of the North Wind. Winter bleeds into the room- it’s icy grip on the world growing. The cold is bracing but familiar. The winds voice rises and falls as it hums its lullaby, and I close my eyes to let it wash over and through me.
There are those to whom the North Wind speaks. It blows its way into you and sits in your very bones. The cold and the pressure in your ears are not things to be fought against. Those who heed the cold North Wind find comfort in its eternal chill. No matter the weather, it sits deep within that legion it has built.
When I close my eyes to see it, the world lays out before me as a snowy birch forest. In my mind’s eye, I see myself kneeling near a flaking trunk and grasping the surrounding powder. The wind blows over my face, I feel its chill, and I hear its howl. Standing in front of the open window, I feel it whirl within as it washes around me. As I open my eyes and close the window, I see the willow and the pavement and the buildings. I miss that birch forest, but it lays forever locked within me- held firm by the North Wind.