The simple beauty of rushing wind. Melodious harmony results when nature gives into the whimsies of the wind.
To my left I heard a constant tapping, so i cast a cursory glance to find out what it was – a wrinkled dried up leaf miraculously still hanging to a plant, kept grazing away at the pot beneath it.
I turned my concentration back to my book only to notice the old stillness that had settled all around me. Like the stillness that fills an opera house just before the symphony begins.
Then as if on cue, a solitary leaf fell, brushing against branches on it’s to the grass beneath. A short distance a way the constant gently sound go the builders shovel could be heard – as he mixed and slapped the mixture onto the brick next to him.
Then He began.
I could feel him on my face yet still see him move in front of me. The gentle touch from my left cheek to under my chin to my right cheek, slightly but gently lifting my face from my book again. Moving through the trees from left to right, right to left yet all at the same time.
Far off, I could see the builder’s unbuttoned shirt dance as he worked on the structure beneath him. The trees, only to happy to appease him, moved and swayed to match his intensity. Each making his own joyous sound.
He kept it up, his dance, his song, for a little while longer – teasing and prancing.
I indulged him and smiled and then turned back to my book.
On the way there, a single solitary flower had landed on its face.