Wind

The wind is whipping outside and when it blows past our front doors it gets tangled up in a pocket in the siding and makes a spooky whistle. It’s been whistling at me all morning, when it does Ella looks at me wide eyed and whispers “scared”. They sky is totally grey. Tree skeletons line our street; their former adornments a soggy pile in the gutter. The charm of fall is over and the coldness is creeping in.