Written by Dennis Harvell
The Wind That Never Slept
The snow may have stopped, but the borough didn’t get a break.
What came next wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t even still.
It was the wind — relentless, violent, and loud enough to feel like a living thing.
All day and night, the wind has been pounding against my semi–soundproof windows like it’s trying to get in. You can hear it howling, not in the soft winter way, but in that deep, guttural whoosh that makes the whole building feel like it’s breathing. The shutters and screens shake so violently that it’s almost unnerving. You want to fix it, tighten something, stop the rattling — but the moment you crack a window, it turns into a wind tunnel.
The air rushes in with a roar, pushing against you like it has hands.
It’s not just noise — it’s force.
The other day, crossing the street, the wind literally shoved me backward. One gust pushed me toward the sidewalk, the next toward traffic. It wasn’t dramatic — it was real. The kind of moment where you realize the wind isn’t just weather. It’s power. It can move you. It can throw you off balance. It can put you in harm’s way without warning.
And that’s the frightening part.
You don’t expect the air itself to become dangerous.
Inside, the wind becomes a soundtrack you can’t escape.
The windows thud.
The frames vibrate.
The screens rattle like they’re about to tear loose.
Every gust sounds like a wave crashing against the building.
It wears on you.
Not physically — mentally.
It’s the kind of noise that makes you feel like the storm never ended.
Like the borough is still under siege.
Like winter is reminding you it’s not done yet.
And outside, the streets stay empty.
Not because of snow this time — but because the wind makes the world feel hostile.
You can’t walk straight.
You can’t hear yourself think.
You can’t trust your footing.
You can’t trust the next gust.
This is the part of winter no one talks about — the aftermath that doesn’t melt, doesn’t quiet down, doesn’t let you breathe. The part where the borough feels suspended, waiting for the wind to lose interest.
But it hasn’t.
Not yet.
The wind hasn’t slept in days.
And even inside, the wind finds its way in.
I had to put a stopper at the bottom of my front door because the gusts were pushing underneath it so hard it sounded like the wind was trying to enter without permission. That’s the part that gets to you — when the weather stops feeling like something happening outside and starts behaving like something trying to cross your threshold. It’s unsettling in a way that’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived through it.
That’s when you realize this isn’t just cold air moving around.
It’s a presence.
A force that refuses to let the borough rest.
The storm may have ended days ago, but the wind hasn’t slept since.
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