The wind and me

On the commencement of the void
I look beyond the brown wooden window.
Seasons change and the leaves fall to a final swirl of life
And dance about in a whirlpool of untamed wind,
Flirting with the fickle dirt and dust that oblige,
Resting in the soporific wind.
Ah, the crafty wind;
The wind that carried promises of better times below,
Beckons the homeless clouds
To join the merry band
And they rain down on the silly leaves
And wash the dust away.
And then,
With a sinister howl of laughter,
She slams the window upon my face.

The Flautist

And when he laid his eyes upon her, the fires of hell spawned within him. His eyes sparkled in her gentle radiant light and he could feel his feet no more. And the air around him grew thinner while he gasped in sheer agony and tightly grasped the flute that he bore in his sweaty palms. His music could never be as sweet as the tinkling of her soft laughter. It echoed within his head and turned his world upside down. His hopes rose to dizzying heights. He was trapped in a stolen glimpse of a beautiful moment in time.

It took but a fleeting instant of brief realization of how unseeming the circumstances actually were, to bring him crashing down to the maddening state of hopelessness and futility. The joyful colors faded and his vision sunk to gray shades of despairing gloom. He cursed the unfairness of life and his fate of being a poor, ugly, lowly flautist, who dreamt of unparalleled grandeur, but who could never make it. The blackness of the night that hid his shame and disgrace seemed to be the only solace to him.

But, it was broad daylight and there was nowhere to hide. He could barely resist glancing up again. He raised his eyes and took one look. The world began to glow again.