The Spirit and the Wind

They taught me at Sunday school that the Spirit's wind; and cool. On a night cool and windy, my eyes were wide and flinty. Through translucent window pane, jiggled a confused weather vane, shy which direction to face; excitement set to race. Soon the weather vane saw me, and thrust an arrow at me. Then heavy patter patter; the pane began to shatter. The wind came whistling aloud, sweet music my ears allowed. Chilled, I felt the Spirit come: the room was now wet, I, numb. As if in a distant dream, I heard a wren sing, or scream; a duck quacked, in obvious thrill of nearby soldiering drill. My sleepy eyes blinked; I stirred as the warm morning rays shirred my thoughts in folds of wonder at a storm without thunder. I peeped through the gaping pane; the sun, calm along its lane, kept smiling as my mind puzzled, with my understanding muzzled. I recalled the Sunday school; the Spirit could be indeed cool.