Howl

What lives below this granite crust
Flourescent moss and rose-tinted brush
Mid-afternoon
The season is early winter
The larch are gold and becoming, on a northern slope
My feet dangle over the edge
Will you throw me a rope
They say that it’s an Indian summer
And 'though I’m tired of being the wind
I’m howlin' again
Oooh, ahhh..
I listen for the owls breaking
Of midnight bones
I listen for the messages that speak
From my own
And 'though I don’t know what time it is
I know I am alone
And 'though I’m tired of being the wind
I’m howlin' again
Oooh, ahhh
The sky is sighing snow
I’m singing in harmony
Take a bit of refuge
Beneath an old weathered tree
And slowly, slowly I befriend the wind
Ooh, ahh