An hour in the yard
The sun beat down invading every bit of life it could reach. It was hot on my skin. My face pointed in its direction, but my eyes were closed. It was too bright to see. It was hot enough to feel. Every pore sucked the heat up and took it in.
The wind wrapped around me as fabric completely enveloping me. My hair whipped in every direction pulled as on strings. It was here, there, everywhere. It was the air I breathed. How do you take a picture of the wind? Only by the results it brings.
The horizon was hidden behind fences, roofs, and trees. Branches swayed in every direction. Shingles held on with all their might. Wood slats swayed against their nails. The horizon promised it would always be there out beyond it all. It was the promise that something new would always come.
I suddenly realized the buds I had missed with the quickly moving spring season. There were few left, but one purple flower shouted out to me. "See! Look here and see me!" The sun lit on its petals to help it shine more, the wind moved it around to be noticed, and the horizon promised and warned, "Something is always coming, but don't miss what is already here."