Just a little something while the laundry spins in the dryer…
Wind whips the fallen leaves into a tiny tornado.
Will o’ the wisp or dust devil?
Whirlwind or ghost wind?
I walk on, the ends of my scarf fluttering wildly
Like the wings of a bird, desperate for escape.
I shiver, thinking of hot tea, soup bubbling in the pot,
And the warm blanket waiting for me on the sofa.
My shoes crunch through the leaves now scattered on the sidewalk
As the wind rushes off to play elsewhere.