Swirling vortices through the air
Unseen, searching, pick the pockets of nature
Flinging up debris
Crisp packets, chip wrappers
Pushing a crinkled can towards the drain
A fuss, a flap, a cacophony of chaos
But here, where the wind shakes hands
Or promenades to and fro
As a line dance
The crisp crunch of Autumn’s sweeping
Align, like the planets from the Sun
Or queuing taillights behind a drizzly accident
And me, with carefree guilt
Kicks them up
Scuffs them, swishes them, sweeps them away
Right footed, and my weaker left too
Clears the lines
Swirling vortices through the air
morningmistermagpie.com 