Occuring naturally in the atmosphere.

And so the wind takes his last breath along on its journey.
Picked from the air by a ghostly rapscallion.
He said farewell to the world as it leaked from his lungs.
But this time, none was to return.
Through the window the wind stole this moment.
Away from its resting place.
Away from the man who moents gone had passed.
And like it's stolen posession and it's owner just gone, the wind itself slipped away into the winter night.
Continueing its neverending journey through life.
For the wind has no home and so it must constanly roam throughout the world.
Picking up stolen moments as a means to go on.