The howling wind

The howl tells me the wind is coming, moving forward as the trees respond almost like dominos bowing to their king of momentum. My arm hair stands up on end as the cold mist and wind whoosh past my body. I swallow hard and move my hands up to clutch my skin as if somehow it would keep me warm. I am underdressed for such an occasion.

The grey, black, blue mist that intertwine to make the sky, twirls above my head. I look over the collection of trees in front of me and out across the water, where a cloud of birds burst into the horizon as they take off suddenly. I can hear their squawking, and then it dissipates slowly before finally fading into a purr that I recognize, I often woke up to this sound, it was natural, almost comforting since it let me know I wasn’t totally alone here.

The ice pops and cracks as if it doesn’t want to wake up, its grumbles, its sounds growing more faint as it readjusts  back into its winter slumber. The ashy arms and hands of smoke curl up my nostrils and turn my attention momentarily back inside. I notice the laughter of the fire is dying, time to put another log of wood into play. 

I need to chop more logs and split kindling before it gets too late in the day. The salty taste on dad’s rough coat is bitter as I bite the neck and grip the zipper while slipping on his winter boots to venture out back. The place where the large logs are neatly stacked in a pile is just far enough away that the wind has a chance to lick my neck and cover my skin with millions of goose-bumps that seem to crawl down my back.

My arm burns as the weight of the axe settles in. The sky’s cold colors are churning rapidly now, and the animals and birds have long found hiding spots. After  a few swings there laying on the crunchy snow covered ground is my heat source, logs, enough to keep me warm for the next few days and nights. The long howls of the wind now a bully trying to push me back towards the frozen grey lake. I can see the snow running across it, being chased by the same howling wind. “It doesn’t give up does it.” I hear my voice proclaim aloud as I look over my shoulder just about to reach the green back door.

 I notice it feels easy holding the axe my arm flexes and it seems lighter somehow. The door is locked but the wind seems furious now, surging up, and wailing one last time before it retreats. I feel my eyes squint as a smile turns up my face, and I can finally settle in front of the fire.