The wind would tell me stories

the wind would tell me stories
of the things he’s done today
of how he caused a small pile
of fallen leaves
to swirl about
in a spinning dance
of how he laughed
when he snatched a boy’s hat
and made the child run to catch it
and of how he whistled
as he blew across a wall

but he was a November wind
and nobody wants to hear his stories


We have had an unseasonably warm first half of November in the part of Canada that I live, but the last few days have reminded us that it is, indeed, late fall.  The wind, today, had an icy bite to it, and I wanted to spend as little time out-of-doors as possible.  Perhaps the wind wanted to tell me tales, but I was much too cold to listen.

NaBloPoMo Day 19.

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