Tumbleweed

I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I watched it from the moment it rolled flawlessly, stridently itself in sync with the velocity of weather, the precursor to the wheel, into my western window and followed it across the living room palette of windows while the boys went about their duties unaware—filling out forms online, drawing cartoons—as far east as I could chase as it rolled on toward France Avenue. I thought, foolishly, that it might stop at the intersection before rolling itself into traffic, but by the time I caught up with it out of my bedroom window, it was gone.