Wind Race

There was a distant mournful pitch a tease that played push and pull with the clouds fierce, frightful, frenzied perpetual motion, cirrus, cumulus, altostratus mix at play; first, grays, darkened purples, subtle blue patches of fluff and stuff icy white tinged ivories that cling to every gust; riding in on the restless racing zephyr winds tossed and tumbled, twisted and teased through the trees whipping, swaying, bouncing up and down repeatedly; a lurch, a bend, a breaking twig on every branch catkins and samaras of sugar maple glide clutching in the discordant snips and snags of huffs and puffs riders in the wind, catching transport in every breezy gale rushing untethered from west to east, north to south in the race to reach the open air freed upon the seas.