Wind twists her way through the cracks in my concrete wall, gazing back outside before wrapping my fingers in a cool glove of reminders that winter has yet to subside.

The pitbulls next door don’t like her. When the whoosh of air comes and trees bend backward, they howl loudly, as if to alert their owners that danger is here.

The owners don’t care much; they left the pits to freeze in the polar vortex winds of negative thirty, here in Chicago. The dogs huddled through the Arctic winds and somehow survived; but now, when the winds come, they bark and yelp and howl for somebody to notice.

I noticed, but it is too late. Tomorrow, the wind will take them.