Air moving

Breathe

The silver skin of still water breaks into midnight black ripples, stirred by a faint breeze.

Breathe

The contorted edges of dry leaves lift and catch in the growing wind, skirling in brittle drifts.

Breathe

Bare branches sway and clatter like a battleground of wooden swords and old bones.  Groaning trunks join in, bent by the mass of unseasonably warm air driving over the land.  Like the breath of some Titan, the night air feels alive with vast motion.  An unfathomanble continent sliding over cities, through dry winter grass, moaning dark harmonics.  Ethan Starke stands at the end of his driveway trying to imagine the sheer enormity of the ocean of air moving over him.  He blinks the though away, mind retreating to a more comfortable context.  Like the earth breathing, he thinks, beginning his late night stroll with a silent step left onto the sidewalk.  The air continues to move, from west to east, pulling with it leaves and bits of debris beyond counting.  Silt caught in a swift current of air.  Step into that current and you are surrounded, particles swirling in eddies around you.  Ethan walks through that river of air, and like silt in a swift current, countless unseen motes swirl around him.

And some of them stick.