Windswept

A (very) short story I wrote while listening to Clair de Lune as a writing exercise.

The leaves didn’t fall. Even as the wind pick up, taunting them, caressing them with fervent passion, they resisted; singing a silent protest, unready to yield. The wind pushed harder, as if an ardent lover being dismissed and yet unwilling to not persist.

 

And the leaves, they danced on. Listening closely to hear them giggle amongst themselves. Blushing cheeks as their spring youthfulness began to turn with the season; their wishes almost palpable. Quietly wondering and dreaming what it must be like to be loosed upon the wind, maybe even daring to drop in for a swim and let the tide take them away.

 

And yet, they did not give in; the timing being not quite right. And so, they danced, clinging to their branch and the secure solace it offered. Dreaming, wishing and waiting.

 

Tempting as the wind may be, the leaves waited for it to retreat into the folds; Impassioned but tempered. Knowing that in time they would not be so green; ready to depart on a new passage. When they would cease the dance within their little world; ready to fall headlong into the wind and begin a new dance. 

Reviews

[Amanda Worthington]

The direction in which you took was very original and creative and in a sense, almost magical. The way you described the imagery in this piece was wonderful. I really, really liked reading it and don't think there is a word to describe how much I enjoyed it.

[Botania]

Fun. NE. This is magical.