I remember lying in that shack and the first gush of wind would arrive. Only wind. Even if you did not believe in God it sounded like the announcement of one of its messengers to come. Soon. The first haul would be a whisper, but the second, third, fourth would suddenly surround you. Make the door creak, the hatch of the window slam into the wall and blow in all the desert dust it could carry. The first nights it would stay that way, lulling you back into your sleep once it subdued. Not long after the thunder would join in. Tick, tick, tick, the rain would start, drops on the tin roof, starting in that same gentle pace, soon after the first thunder clap. It would fall, fall, to pour down its soul on you and would drown out even the voice of the crying baby right next door. It would just be you, the wind, the rain, your roof and that haunting feeling you had missed a message. A message of someone about something you had forgotten. You are nothing. We are one, and I, I am nature knocking at your door.