Moaning, like some long lost, tortured soul the wind strained to be heard. Outside, inky blackness. Shapeless, without form, stretching away into eternity. No stars. No moon to light the night or show the way the way. A muffled rustling A muffled sound was heard, followed by frenzied flapping squinting... she peered into the shadows. Earlier, rain hammered on the roof then stopped. Silence, until the wind returned, like a hungry beast and battered the eaves. All night long it's pain was heard and sleep denied. Fingers of light stretched through the gloom before shuffling off, towards morning. Formlessness was gone and with it, fear. Trees buckled by the wind and snow stood firm in daylight. Venturing outside, what she'd thought was a blackbird with wings trapped, had been ugly black plastic. Her relief soon turned into anger into anger. The wind strained to be heard, then, like some long lost, tortured soul, it moaned.