Step out on to the street tonight and the world has gone crazy.
Wooden shutters are smacking against balcony railings while plastic bags fly circles overhead. Pollen dunes are chasing my feet down the street and a hundred wind chimes are shouting silvery-tuned excitement.
A strange creature of a wind is rattling the city tonight, pushing over bins and breaking granny’s flowerpots. A low moan follows as it hurls itself down narrow stone pathways. The old buildings complaining at the manhandling.
Yet even as I’m staring open mouthed at this otherworldly spectacle, zipped into an arctic defying jacket with a scarf wrapped around my face, a man in T-shirt and shorts jogs past me. Oblivious to the madness raging around him, or simply determined not to interrupt his routine. The night seems populated with the normal side of humanity, and I seem to be alone in my wonder.
Where are all the feral people tonight? Tonight isn’t for sitting in and drinking tea. It’s a night for howling at the wind!