Sweltering Ignorance

The winds outside my window sound like the voices of rioters on the verge of revolution.

Its slaps against the glass sound like the footsteps of a marching army.

Its bristles against the curtains sound like screams of many dying.

Is it a lull to sleep or a call to action?

Indecisive, I close the window, choosing instead to lay in the sweltering heat.