Wind

         Wind blew hard enough to grow red cheeks, and the leaves and other layers of the ground blew up into a cloud of clutter. That would have made him laughed, if he wasn’t so serious. He then rose up and started moving around the clouds, despite their grumbling and snips at his heels. Not quite satisfied, he began plucking at the pine trees, sending needles astray and pine cones plummeting. He racked across the shingled roofs, though only stirring up dust there, and combed through the plastic furniture left out in backyards, tipping them over and creating a racket. He screeched in the cracks and holes of buildings he couldn’t get into, infuriated that he could go where ever he’d like, and yet couldn’t even touch the inside of those dead pile structures.