Wind

Leaves--some dry and crumbled, some still green and hanging on. My flesh, trembling with the cursory chill of the northern front: I hear it high in the trees, and then it tumbles down on top of me, and I can feel it; I can see it in the bows of these giants, I can smell the fresh, clean essence of the air hovering thinly about me... And I can taste the light nothingness whip across my tongue as a bellowing sigh escapes from my confines of my body and is swept away with it.