There cotton floating through the air.
I believe it is the traveling seed of a tree here, maybe a cottonwood? When it is time for pollination and growth, it frees itself from its home and dances away.
It does not seem to rest. It falls in a floaty, lazy way toward the ground, then is caught by a slight upwards currant and goes racing back to the sky. It circles around you as you walk, surrounding you like so many fairies.
And just when you think it has come to rest - on the ground, on a bench, on a car - the slightest breeze comes along, more gentle than you or I would even notice. It is off again.
Days like this, when the sky is gray, the workload is high, and my focus is gone, I long to be one of those pieces of cotton.