The wind lightened my sleep into awake.
Its voice slapped branches onto my
window, scratching at me to get up.
A lazy sun gathered a rising strength
in the background with blue and
crimson clouds, suggesting rain.
Leaves brushed into thousands of sounds;
music of rubbing and snapping,
an orchestra of nature calling.
Window edges rattled in rebellion
for moving. Gusting armies of angry air
attacked without resistance;
without equal, the wind passed
when finished.
Roger Singer 