black, white, and the thin grey line

Last night the wind howled. It was proud and warm at three am, tree limbs twisting against the rushing stars was music and it filled in my ears. I stood outside in my pajamas and a down vest, tucking a few pieces of firewood under my arm. The night smelled of blossoms, wet warm dirt, and I felt spring in that thick frenetic air. The fire needed to be banked and the dog let back in. He came up to my bed and rested his nose on the edge. I slapped the bare open expanse, the west side of my duvet, he is nimble for a big dog and he settled into that ocean of space filling it up with his rhythmic inhalations.