Waiting for the air

An original description of an invented equipment showroom.

The windsocks hung from the rafters in a row of collapsed colours. Orange fabric folded into its own mouth; a white one twisted around its narrow end. Without moving air, they looked less like instruments than washing that had forgotten to dry.

A technician wheeled a fan to the end of the room. The first sock lifted uncertainly. A crease travelled down its length, and the pointed tail began to tremble. Then the whole tube filled. It reached towards the far wall, bright and straight, as if it had suddenly remembered a direction.

The next sock rose more slowly. Its heavier cloth rounded before the tail left the floor. Behind it, the white sock shook itself free of the twist and snapped into line. For a moment, the room held several visible currents. I could not see the air itself, but I could follow its pressure through every tightening seam.

When the fan stopped, the tails sank at different speeds. One continued to flutter after the others had folded. The colours returned to their patient, empty shapes beneath the rafters.

How does the writer make the movement of the windsocks vivid?