Bin lids dance away. A packet escapes and I pounce. That howling in the trees. Mocking, flinging litter to exuberant cartwheels down the lane and away.
It sees, I know it does. Watching my ambition: a coffee in the spring light. That’s all. Calm and quiet.
Hair in my face – it was brushed this morning and now it’s stuck to my tears. Grit in my cup. In my teeth.
This is not a breeze!
Shouting, shouting. Futile words squandered. I. Can’t. Hear. You.
Defiant. Done littering, it sneaks inside with its insolence and dust.
This invisible, spiteful brat pushes, shoves my orderly moment. My patience.
I am jostled, rattled and wind-worn. Blown inside out with the effort. Inside, not out.
Sun ripens and rain quenches: the gusty git serves no purpose and he knows it.
Tantrum weather.
