DUST IN THE WIND

To be alone.
Under a tree.
In a garden.
No people.
No sounds.
Only the birds chirping.
The smell of the grass.
The heat of the sun.
What is that sound?
Oh, the wind rustling the leaves.
How beautiful.
How relaxing.
How perfect.
Oh no.
I hear more sounds.
It’s turning dark.
The sun has retreated.
Someone is coming.
I can’t see who it is.
It can’t be.
I’m dust in the wind.