Night wind

I've always been strangely fascinated by the wind at night. The outline of trees blowing to and fro against the night sky. The sound and feel of it out there in the dark. What mysteries are whispered in the wind? The forbidden I love yous, the vows of revenge, the sighs of contentment. All blowing by on the night's wind. The clouds racing over the moon, all that's familiar suddenly strange, swept up in the magic of the night. The decision to change, all real changes in our lives are made alone and at night. Lives are built up and picked apart at night. Only here away from the mess of our lives can we find the room to think. The night wind hears both the tender sounds of young love and the despair of long lost dreams. When you have a secret, a secret too terrible to bear, whisper it to the wind, to the sky, to the moonlit wood. I've sat out in the night in November, the winter night sky to clear to imagine overhead and let the wind flow over me. Carry over me and twist and turn thru the trees and down the gravel lane. Sleep not even a possibility, less likely than just floating up and being swept away myself.