The wind is playing the part of a fitful lover. He comes on strong and sure, and you think that it will be windy all day, pleased with the thought of it. Look for him and he is gone, all is still, you feel forgotten and abandoned. He returns, sweeping you up in his arms, expecting- knowing- that all will be forgiven. "Where are you going? Take me with you," I whispered as he swept by me. He is silent, teasing, mussing my hair, trying to make off with my cap. Smiling, tho' with a hint of a sadness I can't help feeling, I walk on, not waiting for a reply, not looking back.