Wind, Berlin, 2016

The wind today is different.

It doesn't race through you, angry, like a business man in rush hour catching a tube. 

It doesn't sweep majestically down the street and seep into your bones like the winds here so often do. 

It doesn't freeze you to the core.

This is an English wind. 

It's indecisive, indirect, friendly, polite almost.

It gathers you as you step outside the door, playfully prancing around. Like an old friend it pushes you this way and that, it shows you a world of opportunities rather than insisting you march in one direction. It swirls around your body, flinging hair in face and skirts around legs.

Then suddenly it's gone, whisked away to a pile of paper further down the street which it attacks with gusto, churning it up into the air in a small whirlpool and letting it settle again in a different pattern, a hesitant artist.

As you watch it perform, it evokes memories of dry stone walls, summer rain, bubbling streams and rustling leaves. You can almost smell the fresh grass, feel the sun on your back, hear the buzzing hum of summer days, trilling lapwings circling above.

Suddenly it's returned to you, mischievous and warm, and it catches your breath and makes you smile.

Because, as it flutters little fairy wings in your face in the cold and lonely Berlin streets, it reminds you what it is to be alive.  

Author's Note

My first post, feedback always welcome but be gentle with me!

Reviews

[M.Babu]

"Then suddenly it's gone, whisked away to a pile of paper further down the street which it attacks with gusto, churning it up into the air in a small whirlpool and letting it settle again in a different pattern, a hesitant artist."
My favorite bit. The wind could be a marvelous imagery akin to life too btw! Keep writing!
~M.Babu~

[Sami Coot]

thanks, you too!