the wind blows (1)

The wind blows. It moves through the branches of skeletal trees, bending them with whispers that carry the weight of secrets. A dried leaf tumbles across the barren ground, a dance without rhythm or purpose, yet hypnotic in its randomness. The cold bites at exposed skin, but it is not the kind of cold that comes with snow. This is a dry, relentless chill, the kind that sneaks into bones and refuses to leave.In the heart of the empty plain stands a house. It is neither grand nor particularly remarkable, but it's silhouette against the grey horizon draws the eye. The shutters bang against the siding in protest of the wind’s intrusion.