Unquiet ghosts

It's howling outside, scratching at the windows with clawed fingers, trying every crack and hairline opening in the walls and windows. The trees are waving wildly, tossing leafless crowns, demanding my attention. I hear nothing but the rushing scream of the wind. Traffic is muted and a few brave souls fight their way up the street. It's cold outside these covers and the heater is across the room. Soon I will have to venture out of my warm nest of blanket and pillows to fix breakfast and work, shivering until the little heater spreads its warm glow throughout my safe haven against the unquiet ghosts that ride the wild winds.

Not now.

Not yet.

Soon.