Red bud

Glossy leaves,
the color of new bricks,
flutter in the breeze.

The wind picks up,
and the leaves follow suit,
madly straining to lift the tree.

They struggle for flight,
and just as suddenly,
the air calms.

All is still.
The leaves remain frozen.
Red bud survives the storm.

(Hour 10, Poetry Marathon 2020. Random prompt: “Write a poem about the view out your window right now.”)

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