L.A. winds whip through alleyways, wail eulogies for the lost, tear ghost sheets from cemetery clotheslines.
L.A. winds steer birds off course; break trees of their branches and will; deflower flowers, scatter all cautions to the wind.
They huff and puff, blow down homeless encampments, give rise to stray plastic bags tracing the wind’s form yet unable to comprehend the wind’s full shape and power.
Then, without warning, L.A. winds die out.
All the plastic bags, flower petals, ragged tents, cardboard shelters, and stray bird feathers fall to the ground, joining the broken branches.
The city grows quiet.
Takes on the many colors of its inner mood ring: violet for loving, amber for unsettled, gray for anxious.
RichRant 