By the way, your laundry is in Korfu
If you live in a place where the wind has a name, you can be pretty sure that it’s a serious wind. Pampero, chinook, mistral, föhn; these are serious winds. Here we have the burja.
The burja blows from the north down out of the Alps and toward the Adriatic. This is the wind that shreds flags, strips trees of leaves and branches and cones and debris, tears terra cotta roof tiles away, fells billboards. If you drive east toward Mount Nanos you will see stands of trees growing at a slight southern angle which shows you the direction of the wind even if it’s not blowing when you pass. You might also notice heavy gray chunks of limestone ranged along the northern edges of roofs, weighting the tiles. You will see dayglo windsocks along the highway and just before the road begins the climb up Nanos’s flank there is a sign posting the current windspeed in red LED and a notice if the road is closed to trucks. If the burja is really blowing, you are quite likely to see one or two of the waiting trucks lying down on its side for a little nap.
If you left any laundry hanging on the line, it’s long gone.
The burja has been blowing for a few days now. All night it was sucking at the weatherstripping of the windows, shrieking and keening in the corners of the terrace, moaning in the chimney-vent of the waterheater. It grabbed my briefcase as I left the house and tried to hurl it toward Croatia. At traffic lights the car rocked on its shocks like a rowboat and when the lights changed it developed serious weather-helm, listing toward the right shoulder and lurching in the gusts.
Folk wisdom says the burja drives people mad, causes suicide.
The burja knocks out power at work. This causes people to become listless, as though nothing can be done without fluorescent lighting and a photocopier. When the power returns with a buzz-click-overhead flickering, everyone is initially cheered and then suddenly, vaguely, disappointed.
Damn, now I can work.
You chave given me ample consolation for the few seconds this afternoon when, suddenly, my wrap-around skirt wasn’t.
Here, the wind is formally known only as the wind, but you had better believe I had some more colorful names for it in that moment.
Comment by ELS — Tuesday 12 April 05 @ 04.59 MDT+2.00