There’s a rhythm roar to traffic flow

that’s rushing down the road.

Stillness pricked by growing wind

heavy on the ear

that swishes into vortex speed

a roaring soaring blast

whipping wind as it roars past,

receding faintly, quick

now echoing to swishing

tickle whisper . . . gone.

as quiet fills the sonic holes

the roar has left

behind.

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Photo by Jeff Cooper on Unsplash