Matters little the time of year,

though today is different.

I can hear voices

chatting along exterior walls,

the windows rattling,

the winds whistling.

I’m in the comfort of my home,

but even then

the deception of peace

can be misinformed,

misbegotten,

a constant illusion.

Winds of change,

do always haunt me

the shrill song,

asking me to live them

naturally

without any question.

The winds of change,

always remind me.