The wind grew
From what had been enough
To cause a flutter
Of veined, crispy leaves on the path
To a burgeoning force
These rusty coloured slices of deadness
Inched even more restless
And whisked themselves higher
Suddenly flying skyward
Imitating birds in flight
Whipped up and swirling
Blanket like, this alien shape
Breezed before our eyes
Curling furiously
Then one by one
Disengaging
And flapping alone
Landing a mute thud