The wind was born as a gentle, playful whisper and, to the cloud's scudding rhythm, it danced through the boughs; which, whipped and caned by the ferocious skies, swiftly evolved into what could be named a caged tiger; a roaring and threatening beast that would come close to tearing up the very trees by their roots.
A man walking along the cobbled pavements, scarf capering like a thing maddened, held up his umbrella. Once opened, the black material bloomed like some exotic, mystical flower and upon springing wide with obsidian leaves, proceeded to protect the man's head from the oncoming rain. Mother Nature however, was not appeased by the man's avoidance of her watery splendour.
In the form of thunder, she shrieked into the grey skies and with unbridled rage, swirled the frenzied wind to new heights and tempers.
The man, his eyes alert, grasped the handle of his costly umbrella tight. The gale, dancing and whistling like the pied piper, coaxed the intoxicated umbrella onwards with promises of freedom and liberty. Similar to a crow intent on escape from it's captors clutches, so did the umbrella flap its wings in an attempt to rid the man's hands from around the slippery handle. Assisted by the gale, the rain and Mother Nature herself, the umbrella tore itself from the man's resilient grip and went fleeing down the streets, inside out as the wind cajoled it forwards.
Infuriated at seeing his prized possession stolen, the man, arms flailing like windmills, tore after the umbrella like a hare set upon by hounds. Too intent upon reaching his prey, the man's senses had dulled. Unable to see the newly formed puddle ahead, his foot slipped within the snagging water and, losing his balance, the man fell in a most ungainly fashion.
To add insult to probable injury, the wind begun whistling and howling like a childish hyena. Yet the wind was a mere child; a mischievous being that sought to prank the mortal humans with it's petulant thieving. The man, his backside stained with water, shook a fist and cursed the heavens.
Leaving the poor man to mourn his loss, the gale swept onwards towards the park trees. Waltzing past the twigs and branches, the wind laughed and sung to a distant tune. As if coming to life upon the first touch of the breeze, the trees with the thickest trunks begun to bend and sway whilst the smaller branches touching the sky, were made to whip the clouds above them over and on.