Today, gusts of wind rush through the leaves of a solitary magnolia. It sounds like the ocean surf. Or a thousand hands clapping. Or the sudden downpour of a heavy summer rain. Dreamy. Romantic.
Or maybe it’s something sad—like an empty barn with a rotten loft and ladder. Rickety. Weather-beaten. Missing planks like missing teeth. Another tooth, the loss of youth. The movement of air mourning for what is no longer there. Haunted.
The dying breeze moans and whispers in my ear. A message that is bittersweet and fluctuates deep within the pit of my stomach. The swift passing of days and months and seasons. Another year. Some faces disappear.
Time whistles like an outbound train.