She is standing on the porch. The wind is cool against her cheeks and moves her hair. She watches the garden in front of her with the lawn and the flowers. But the wind wants her attention. Nagging. It comes with the intent to unsettle.
She looks up and the grey clouds cover the whole sky. They move fast. She turns to walk inside.
The whistling of the wind follows her into the house and tells her to remember. Blows off the lid. Stirs up the dust that has settled. She mustn’t forget. The wind is eternal and it has no heart nor mercy. It leaves her tumbling and moves on for now. Eroding her a tiny bit with each passing.