The wind never stops here. Trees bend slowly in the afternoon. Grape vines twist in the dark air past our balcony in the middle of the night, sprawling in any direction they can. They rustle in that wind, more than a breeze, less than a howl. Nothing stands still, constantly shifting from one foot to the other, trash whipping up in a flourish and drifting off to the next street, a gentle hand pushing everything forwards.
The world outside our windows percolates like a great pot of soup. If it rains, the water funnels through these makeshift spouts, splashing louder than car horns on the pavement.
The days evolve into a cycle of rain and wind and sun, each chasing the next with a reckless joy, a careless effort. Even Mother Nature is different here - playful and fierce, as trees seem to spring up overnight, as the empty lot next to us becomes a dusty jungle in a matter of hours.
Everything is alive.
I can't wait! You make everything sound like the next piece in the puzzle.
Once again you have taken me somewhere. You let me smell the rain. I love these simple moments that just are truth in your moment.