One of my goals for my writing class is to push the envelope a bit, so to speak, and take a risk in my writing. This piece was written from the prompt: "What does winter sound like?" I tried to write this piece as prose, but it just wasn't working for me. I then tried writing poetry, first time ever, and this piece was born. It quickly wrote itself without much prompting from me. I read it today in class and it was received well by my fellow writers, although I admit to almost hyper-ventilating while reading it.
The Night Wind
In the darkest part of the night, when no one else is moving,
Is when I listen.
With the window open, I hear the sounds of life outside,
Coyotes crying, wind howling.
I lay motionless, careful not to awaken
Those who are sleeping.
Alone with my thoughts, I lay silently
And I listen.
Eyes open, ears open, black room.
Silence, then crashing.
I hear the whiplash of wind as it
Whirls and twists the leaves
Into a pile which I will find in the morning
Huddled together for warmth.
I don’t know why I like to lay in the dark and listen.
Is it the only time that is mine and I belong to no one?
The wind and I are alone.
It does not demand an answer.
It does not ask for help.
It simply breathes.