Mischief
The wind has been unleashing its bag of tricks, carting us off, tossing...up and down, spinning unsuspecting victims into acrobatic moves. One upon the other, we are piled up and tucked away into patterned slots. On no! A little redhead cries out. I'll soon be buried under a rustly, copper tinted pillow. Look at me... says another yellow victim, ready any moment for a free fall. I wish somone would tether the wind, buzzes a strange voice, clinging on for dear life.