Tonight there is a kind of wind that would make you pull the covers over your head when you were a child.

There’s a feeling of unease in the air. The setting Sun is less of a friendly goodbye then a solemn acknowledgment of approaching danger.

The windows rattle like the tiny balls in the push vacuums for kids. There’s a chaotic, jilted energy to them. Wind isn’t supposed to feel personal as blows— but it does.