just weather

a wild
brush of wind scurries leaves
into a circle
rising.
an infinitely small
tornado
of sorts, that goes nowhere.
such as it is
with cross words
spoken and received.
we twirl
in that cool wind,
we think and overthink
what it all could mean,
and then, hopefully,
we let go.
it's truly nothing to
worry about,
weather, just weather,
which will end.