The wind howls through the night, beating at the pane.

It has direction, but not source or terminus.

What spirit gives it force and persistence?

It carries rain along with its rough music,

letting it down in uneven measure; sucked out by blades and thistles for their endless thirst.

Treetops play in the music,

bending with the notes. Only the wind knows the tune. Play on.

Marshall is a photographer and video producer. Visit

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