The wind

Rolling crumbs of the world,
Turning the delicate to drudgery,
Tumbling from beautiful to broken,
A turbulent tango of each element;
Eyes feasting delightedly on the dancing debris
Floating in the chopping, churning, ever changing wind

Churning leaves over leaves over leaves,
Falling fast are the stones and grit,
Fleeing from their place in the world,
Fumbling in free fall towards a new home;
Through the ripples of intermittent stillness,
Feverish in its ferocity, is the ever changing wind

Holding firm and defiantly trees stand tall,
Gripping grotesquely to their surroundings,
Grasping blindly beyond the earth,
Grabbing with branches, briars and thorns
At each intricate thread of fabric passing through
Pulling and beaconing the billowing folds, in ever changing winds

Running footsteps of uncertain passengers
Slipping and skipping a beat or a breath
Scuffing their edges as they navigate
Sliding hands along walls with trepidation
Every step amongst the increasingly cryptic paths
Pushing and bracing against the ever changing wind

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