“Windy outside,” they said. The dog nudged their feet beneath the loaded table. People were eating. She needed the door.
“Windy outside.” A rush of birds arose bourn by her barking, wings flapping like leaves.
“Windy outside.” But the wind outside has no eyes nor claws nor wildly waving tail. The squirrels in the trees looked down while the dog raced madly around.
“Windy outside. Close that door.” The dog ran out to frighten high-blown threats, then barked to come in.
“Noisy outside.” Spring leaves fall softly down like petals on snow. “But quieter now.” And the wild wind blows.