Vortex

In the alcove, just outside the vestibule doors, you form regularly. 

Scooping the smallest of leaves into no more than a set of ten rotations. 

Sometimes you break upon the western wall and form again and backtrack. Today, you caught the hem of my dress as I headed back into the office. Delicate ligustrum petals that hopped around your base rose up to meet me, their pungent aroma reminding me that summer will be here soon. 

The quiet in your corner is always a peaceful transition from work or from home. I hope you greet me each day because you remind me of September in the corner of my grade school playground. Big maple leaves were strewn across the fields and a dirt devil formed and sauntered into the grass where I played alone. As it gathered up the leaves around me it crossed over me and I was just the right size to fit inside. Leaves rushed around me, the vortex growing taller. Looking up I could see the bluest of skies peeking through this wind swept dance. I held out my arms and thought just maybe for a second I could rise up and you could take me up into the sky. You see, I assume it’s still you visiting me. Not so wild and free as on the side of that mountain years ago in that field. Like you, I have also become the consequence of structure, but when you greet me and tug at my dress it’s as if you are trying to remind me that sometimes the sky comes down invisibly to dance amongst the leaves, and with me. I wait for the dance of the one I cannot see.