The weather man said that today will be sunshine and warm temperatures like yesterday. I am a little wary of the forecast because the wind blows through my apartment vents in short bursts. It comes through the ventilator hood of the stove and the bathroom fans.
Outside the sky is the deep blue of my brother’s eyes. The sun paints the hills, leaving shadows in its wake. I look for the wispy clouds that herald a new storm, but they are not here yet.
When the clouds come from the northwest and are pushed by strong winds, they make circular shapes. The contour of the ground is up, up, up and then down into the valley. The wind’s laughter is unmistakable. It is a hollow sound.
I can hear the souls of the dead in that wind.