Sun, cloud, sun, cloud, downpour—all in one hour, all day long, two days running. The wind blows the weather in and away. Gusts lift children’s hats from their heads and sends them chasing, squealing, after.
The wind picks up sand from the desert, sand from the beach, driving it into eyes and freshly washed cars. Flags whip and snap, and birds stay above it all. The flotsam of the city is blown from its piles and scattered down the road.
Doors blow open; windows bang shut; our drafty apartment whistles. Hopefully by tomorrow, the wind will have blown itself out.