A Wuthering Wearying Wind

The wuthering wind howls outside tonight, whistling at the windows, worrying the chimney, whipping around the house’s corners, eaves, and shutters, whimpering at the doors, wanting to come inside out of its own cold.

I hear it rattling tree branches, rustling fallen leaves, robbing the porch of anything left loose. I see it ruffling the mane of the horses’s necks, running like lightning across the hay bales, and rippling the surface of pond.

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I love these lines about the wind found in the poetic book of Amos in the Bible:

For behold, He who forms mountains and creates the wind

And declares to man what are His thoughts,

He who makes dawn into darkness

And treads on the high places of the earth,

The Lord God of Hosts is His name.

Amos 4:13 NASB