Safe In Here

All evening and into the morning, the wind howls. We wake to black branches scattered on the snow and green trash cans tumbling down the icy sidewalks. I hardly sleep.

I burrow into my coat to make it safely to my classroom. As I teach, the high-pitched wind shrieks against the windows. It’s a haunting, eerie howl now, more angry and less like the lonely and sorrowful moan of the night wind.

There’s an enemy out there. It comes against us today.

We’re all in here together, wind-whipped and hesitant of a future walk away from this building to the next. But for now, we’re safe in here.

Days come that remind us of our fragility, that tip us over with great force, that howl and shriek.

But it’s just wind. It will pass. And we’re safe in here. Besides, I consider my spring-planted golden gingko tree who stands so skinny and frail—just a few feet tall. This wind that won’t break him makes his trunk stronger than ever.

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