Heavy clouds clotted Puget Sound as the wind picked up. Whitecaps grew in size and number, racing each other across the surface. A perfect afternoon for reading. I opened my book, but the wind demanded attention as It grew in ferocity. The wood-frame house groaned in acknowledgment. Soon I couldn't concentrate on the words, yet, in a strange way, it wasn't the noise I heard. It was something else; and I tried to capture it in this poem.