The chronicle of the afternoon wind

It arrives a little
after the stroke of noon,

imparting a host of dancing moves
to gooseberry laden
slender branches
which twist and turn
in gay abandon,

sending the fallen potpourri
of white and pink bougainvilleas
and yellowing neem leaves
into a huddle in a corner,

giving a hearty hug
to the Oleander plant,
proudly showing off
a profusion of yellow blossoms,

scattering the dried twigs,
here and there,
for the eager nest builders to gather,

cajoling the bounteous mango tree
dreaming of a bumper crop,
into dropping some of its green gifts,

leaving  the blossoming orange tree,

enjoying an afternoon siesta
with a white dotted carpet to gaze at.

On  hot and blustery
summer afternoons,
the wind sets the tune,

the notes floating in
through the open window.

The various stanzas
reveal a  continuing tale...

the gusting wind has a job to do.