Sometimes it seems to me that, in order to really appreciate the lights of Christmas, you first need to face the darkness and cold. Maybe you don’t appreciate the dark and cold, but in another sense, yes, you do.

You need a front to roar through and the power to go out and all the mass-produced electric tinsel to go dark, and to sit in the dim light of the lone candle you can find, watching the flame wobble in a drafty old house and listening to the wind roar outside.

Looks like tonight’s that night, for me.

The north wind roars. Those four words say it all.
The north wind roars. Haiku would be too long.
The north wind roars. Who needs a coyote's call
Yipping inky horizons with mournful song?
The north wind roars an arctic lion's victory.
The north wind roars. When younger I could see
A path to spring: Quilt-cuddled I could be
Consoled, but now no longer am I free.
The north wind roars. Don't speak to me of hope.
The north wind roars like surf that will not ebb;
Dark days that won't lengthen; hangman's cruel rope
For innocent necks; a spider's sucking web...
Kind pines are bent, and all that good adores
Is humbly hushed because the north wind roars.

4 thoughts on “THE NORTH WIND ROARS

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