Tempest

I can hear the sound of the rain, furiously bombarding my window.
The wind howling, shrieking, crying out my name.
The trees roar with frustration, their branches crashing against each other.
I lift the blinds and peek outside.
The branches stop thrashing. They come to a halt.
And ever so slowly, the tree wheels around.
I watch with mouth open, my breath steaming the window as the branches reach out for me,
The tree stretching its feeble arms, yelling at me.
The remaining leaves scatter in the outrageous tempest.
I lean back in trepidation, closing the blinds.
I climb into my bed and shelter under the covers, shivering.
The branches are beating my window.
The tree wails out my name again.
I lie in my bed, covering my ears, praying desperately for the storm to cease.