To unwind.

This wind, we call it the Cape Doctor, because it blows away the smog and the cobwebs. But also, we call it the Black Southeaster, because
it blows for days and sets our teeth on edge. Girls hold on to their dresses.

Brave or stupid.

My bedroom in the eaves creaks and groans like a ship in a gale. Across the road, a sheet of glass crashes down from a fifth floor window in the middle of the night.
I wake to a day that is the colour of pigeons. The street glitters, all glass shards and oak twigs.
Jacaranda blossoms have blown from over the street and up three stories to carpet my floor.

A precious day off - I shut down my phone and the world doesn't end.
I try not to think about rings of fire, smoke tunnels, (small) waterfalls and other outlandish requests. It feels so good to walk and talk, buffeted by the wind.
Burgers and beer at Royale, books to read in the late afternoon.
Tomorrow is another day.