One of the reasons for moving to Valencia was that here you get more 300 sunny days per year. The temperature is most of the time above 25 degrees and, overall, you get an astonishing weather. Well, “overall” should come with a little bit of a disclaimer.
While it’s true that for the vast majority of the time you get away with really nice and comfortable weather, for the tiny remaining minority of the time things can go haywire.
And it happens that now we’re going through one of these tiny portions in which it’s nasty.
It’s not necessary the temperature, which shouldn’t really be a problem, between 3 and 7 degrees Celsius, but a combination of high humidity (> 80%) and strong winds. By “strong winds” I mean really strong winds, with more than 90-100 km/hour in the city. We don’t get more than 4-5 days per year with this combo, but when it happens it’s annoying.
As I was pondering what I should write for my 22nd day of the yearly writing challenge, I realized that almost all my attention, all my focus, is on this strong windy storm. I happen to live in an attico, which means I get exposed directly. The sounds are unsettling, to say the least: it’s the whirling of the air going through the gaps in the roof, the loud noise made by the heavy, wood persianas hitting the windows, the constantly accumulating crescendos and the even eerier parts in which everything stops, in an otherworldly silence, broken again, when I least expect, in a cycle that slowly drains my attention and energy.
Every time we get into one of these short, but strong storms, I realize that these winds are shuffling and roughing more than just the air. In a more subtle way, they are also re-arranging – violently – other parts of my world. While my focus is attached to these sounds, I get to realize the impermanence and the fragility which surrounds us. When everything is still, the illusion is more persistent. But when the fragments are mixed and unmatched, rolled over and over by these winds of uncertain and unknown causes, I get a better understanding.
And as I get through more and more of these storms, I get familiarized not only with the start and the middle, not only to the violent beginnings and powerful developments of the said storms, but also to their endings.
Because they always end. It may be that they end in a day, or in two, or in three, but at some point they will end.
And when they finally end, my shuffled and roughed inner world is then ready for another respite, for a time to live and enjoy, until the next storm hits. As a matter of fact, knowing for sure there will be another storm in the future, makes everything so much more enjoyable.
Just like meditating on death, on our limited time here, makes us value and cherish life more.
So, as the accumulating crescendos are circling again around the roof, and as persianas are hitting the windows louder and louder, I just try to stay still, focusing on this thought: el viento viene, el viento se va.