The wind is howling tonight. I can hear it in the trees, and the windchimes on the porch are ringing in a mad tarantella, much like Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Bells”. It’s very cold outside, below freezing, and we’re battened down and riding out the storm, hoping that it doesn’t snow. Hoping that it passes us by, like the Angel of Death passing over Egypt in the dark. The lamb’s blood is on the door.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s