A centurion wind marched over
tree tops
with a fluster of noise,
disturbing green leaves, pulling a few away,
tumbling through branches, scattering them on the ground
to early defeat.
Sparrows rushed as if on fire,
lifting and landing, searching for cover
then up and out for another place.
Wide streams of wind rushed flat onto windows,
rattling the obstacle so bold it its way.
Into dark evening sounds increased, like voices
creeping under doors towards
hands that seek warmth.
Roger Singer 