Quiet little city

[offwiththewind]

This is a city of hills. Every morning, when my father and I go run, we walk through a tract of wood, full of trees (and some garbage, unfortunately), ascents and descents. The wind moves past everywhere, so unabatedly that most of the trees are permanently bend to the side. At daytime, the wind blows on the clothes hanging on the line, on the yard. At night, it blows thru our windows, inside the house. When I was a kid, I used to stand outside, watching the trees shake with its force, listening to the whistle it made and feeling the chills on my skin - I'll never forget the sensation.

The wind is part of me: it's part of my personality, of my winding head full of breeze stories and airy constructions.