We sat inside, our heads bowed, our faces grey, solemn, not awake, but sleeping. Waiting. Makingnotes for an exam that is neither relevant, nor important. Barely breathing.

The wind roars again, to wake us. We do not hear.

I look up, and see the trees bend beneath its fury. I imagine boughs breaking, the scream of murdered wood, the taste of plaster dust on my tongue.

The wind hurls itself at us, at our unnaturally still death to all things natural.

I watch, and for a moment, something in me catches, like a breath drawn before a laugh. I am awake, and filled with its power.

The wind dies, and the moment is gone. For a split second, I am empty.

And then words filled me instead. They fell from my moving pen, like raindrops, or like tears.

So long and goodnight.