I Wait

On a euphoric evening in July, you run in the garden alley, the southern breeze brushes your sculpted shoulders softly. Your disheveled swirling hair covers the winsome face in a web. You dance like a peacock, courting the clumps of clouds. Your fleeting feet fan dust in the air, take you onto the wings of the gale, you become the wind in an instant, as I longed to be a leaf, blown by you to lodge on your lips. I wait. On a dismal dusk in July, the wind stops to waft suddenly, the trees don’t even breathe. The eastern sky turns into somber slate, wrapped with wet cloud that cascades with the thunder splitting the sky. It tells me loudly to look out, the storm would be coming soon with the wild wings spread wide to drift away the dislodged leaf. I open the closed window, turning into a leaf, I wait. _______________ February 13, 2023 For Brian Strand's Your Selection Again Contest