Whirling and spinning in your costume of fire
your dancers, dancing to their own music,
making magic in the air.

You wrap them around me and i watch them rise and fall.
I try to reach out grab one and make it my own puppet to play
but you have your own game…

It falls out of reach and somersaults over the ground,
gathering more dancers to join its march,
to feel its rhythm and beat.

I run after them, falling for the trick
as they lead me further and further from the path i was travelling,
yet i cannot tear my eyes away from their reds and golds.

I stick my hand up high to the sky to try capture its sway
but i realise this was not a game i should have played
for the pull was too strong and the beat too cold.

It lifted my hood and blew up my hair,
and whistled round my ears,
chilling any skin that was bare.

It poured in through my jumper, in and out its holes,
deafening me with its roar and force
that i was oblivious to a minute ago.

I ran back but the dancers had covered my tracks
and suddenly i felt lost and foolish,
for falling for the wind’s game of catch.