Wednesday, February 22, 2006
the wind is always a silent, clever energy. at lunch it rustled a crisp leaf down the concrete outside and K knew that it was coming. the sky was just right- smudged smear of faint charcoal, white-grey, expectant. the leaf was followd by another, and, characteristic of aandhis, suddenly the air exploded into a great gust of rustling foliage and whistling wind. a veil of fine dust settled upon the shining red-brown of the dining table as trees danced outside, lifting their arms to the music of currents blowing in from faraway lands. leaves flug themselves into the swirling lure of the wind's fingers, joyously pirouetting across the sky and down into the waiting lap of the grass. K was inside, watching the wind sing to the trees, cocooned in the warmth of cinnamon and butter turning golden in the oven. half inside, half outside, her spirit was flying with the tempest as she opened all the doors and windows in the house to the gale. the air-conditioner spat in leaves through its vents, leaves of every shape and size and texture were tumbled upon the stairs and dust crunched silkily underfoot. K ate a warm cookie and went outside to read poems to the pine trees.Mina at 4:22 PM
