The wind has returned. It drives in from the north. The clouds move in, drop a few sprinkles and receede. The hot summer sun, like the wind, remains, unabated.
It howls through the streets. It blows in scouring the landscape with a gentle ferocity. It takes all that is not secure and deposits it elsewhere. As it does with the streets and landscape the driving dust scours my face, moving through my insides, creeping in my nose, ears, mouth. It makes its way to my brain, scraping away those memories not tied down, leaving only the heaviest, those like lead deep in my subconcious.