It’s gentle and almost ineffective. Wafting around obstacles. Not enough to make any difference to the 36 degree heat and certainly not enough to move the stale, drenched air.

It could be so different though, it could spring up slightly and carry aromas and smells like memories, pushing them through my mind, taking me back years and across continent’s

Perhaps a robust, gregarious wind to rustle the ground and move leaves along their way to rest somewhere else, under a rake being moved along by the foul curses of a person tasked with moving them along.

Or it could be hurricane force and moving on it’s own. No longer around, but through, moving leaves, branches and trees. Moving you if you get in it’s way.

I prefer it gentle, whispering in my ear on a cool day. Who knows what it will say.