Breeze

I was bent over the trunk of my car when a playful breeze flipped the ends of my hair and played across the nape of my neck. It felt like the softest of touches, like that of a lover caressing, or the lightest of fabrics gliding across bare skin.

Just as quickly as this mischievious breeze greeted me, it was gone again, cavorting down the street swirling empty cigarette packs and coffee cups, lifting dirt and gravel into the air in wisps of grey that settled over hoods and sidewalks with an almost inperceptable patter.

The people on the street around me clutched hats and shirts, cursing and muttering at how inconvenient it was, just then, to be affronted by wind. They closed their eyes to avoid dust, they shielded their faces with hands held heavy by shopping bags.

I closed my eyes, and revelled in the moment, almost able to hear the laughter of the breeze as it played.

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One thought on “Breeze

  1. This is so evocative. Reading your writing makes me feel like I’m there.

    And I love the breeze. And the wind. There’s something very alive about it.

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