I'm awake and the wind is blowing outside. It doesn't do that often here, sheltered as we are by the canyon and our close neighbors. I'm not used to the sound.
A moment ago, I was reading some silly romance because I couldn't sleep. It was a pleasant enough distraction. When the wind rose, my thoughts were elsewhere, and - like in a dream - I heard the wind blowing under and around my bedroom window. But that can't be, because I haven't lived in a house where the wind could wrap so completely around me since I was a teenager.
For a moment, I was back there, in my step-mother's house, feeling like the hollow particle board door was a castle wall between me and her. Like the wind was my friend where I had no others. Like the wind was the voice of the place that kept me safe, but kept me hidden.
It's a very lonely sound.
Tonight, I'm glad that my little dog Bella snuck onto my bed while I wasn't paying attention. She's not supposed to be up here, but her presence brought me back to here and now. She's cuddling with my legs, her loving little face resting on my ankle.
Her sigh is a whisper of contentment.