These are the messenger winds. The clearing winds. The preparing winds of winter. They roar through everything, turning the towns and forests into instruments. They quicken the end of the fall and the leaves give no resistance – they just surrender, detatching from the trees as if they were never attached to them in the first place. They let themselves be collected by little gales and then they are gone, only to be found again the following day in piles ready for the rake.
The wind is a disruptor. As the giant cumulus clouds are pushed across the sky, covering and uncovering the sun, the light keeps shifting from glare to darkness. I can’t concentrate. My mind wont settle. I prepare to find somewhere else to work, somewhere hidden from the battle in the sky, when suddenly the biggest rainbow I have seen in some time appears in the library window. Everyone in the building is drawn to it like a magnet of light. For a moment everything is still.