Storm knocks

A storm knocks at the door of a burnt hut
The inmate sits inside clutching tightly the last of the belongings left after the all engulfing fire
If the door opens it will be refreshing
The storm will be a breath of fresh air
Will dust the gutted hut of it's ashes.
Will sweep the lines of past sadness from the face
But then
Apprehension
Caution
Jeopardy
The feet two steps towards the bolted door and one step back
Lest the storm might take away with it the last of the belongings
The storm may wipe away the hut itself leaving in its wake no place to go
No place to sit with clenched fists and head drawn in
No door left to expect more subtle knocks
The storm knocks softly now
The round of questions ensue again