The howling wind has woken me prematurely. It is rushing frantically ’round my house, rattling the windows and doors, cold and lonely. The wildness in my veins wants to run out and dance with it, in the fractured moonlight offered up by the icy snow.
Like the descendant of the wolf snoring next to my beating heart, and the small cousin of the lion curled up on the flesh of my thigh, I too have been domesticated — a comforted creature ensnared by creature comforts.
Burrowed in my nest of blankets and quilts, and with my evolved human head cradled by the down of long-gone birds gliding along glassy waters, I wonder what may have been lost along the way.
I think the wind knows.
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