There are some who say,
the wind always held monsters between its wispy teeth,
but I know better than that.
The terrors only arrived after the moon fell from the sky.
So here I must stay, like the ones before,
and sing away the roaring gale
bending in impossible shapes.
Beyond my prison rests a snow-topped mountain.
Deep inside the towering giant
an abyss waits.
Darkness sings a ballad from the cracked rock.
I should never go there,
says the scribbled note in my book.
Scarlet leaves flutter into my room
and a crow perches at my windowsill.
A flash of olive-green eyes and a cackle.
I rush to my window
but only see endless burnt-gold woods and
an impossibly tall stone tower.
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, friends ❤