The Wind


Its skin-tingling breath raises the hairs on her exposed skin,
filling her with pleasure.
It softly carries the coiled cinnamon leaves, rocking them gently to the ground;
the trees are bare and cold.

Her mustard-colored scarf rides on its current,
quivering the raveled tassels.
As its force heightens, so does her happiness.
Forcefully it whips her hair back.
Its resonant voice whispers in her ears, clear in her mind.

Confidently, she raises her hands from her pockets
and welcomes it coming towards her.
Her oversized plum coat allows the tips of her nippy fingertips to peek out to touch it.

Her rosy cheeks now face the clear blue yonder
- she shuts her eyes tightly.
She begins twirling clockwise, dancing on the crunch-infested mound of leaves.
It lifts the broken fragments and wraps them around her feet.

Swaggering boisterously, it steals the leaves in a blast.
Her balance unsettled she stumbles onto the grass.
All of a sudden it rushes away, resting her and hairs.
Those moments of bliss were wonderful she thought,
Anticipating when their paths would cross again.

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