Whirlwind

A little whirlwind, toddling niece to the tempest, makes the fallen napkins and bits of paper dance in the crook of the concrete corner’s arm while at the nearby table a gaggle of girls practice at speaking English with a certain hilarity at the sound of their own voices. The wind tugs at their carefully tied down hair. Two boys in white shirts, quite accidentally proximate, study at being unaware. Beyond the sheltered veranda, beyond the greenery of the garden walls, the full-grown trees nod and touch knowing shoulders. Later, the mild morning is bound to turn more severe.