Recycling

The wind was racing itself,
Trying to make it around the corner in record time,
Pushing dumpsters across parking lots,
Whipping the caution tape so it clapped,
Making random debris dance across the courtyard.
The clouds were moving in,
Blotting out the light,
Threatening to bring rain,
Urging strangers to rush inside.
My hair was in my face.
My feet were cold.
My hands were steadying the pages of my book.
My mind was processing Camus.
I was enjoying a beautiful day.