Today the weather feels more like September, even if the calendar insists it is still August..
In the morning, I wake to cool air. I open the window and the wind enters like a gentle touch, as if reminding me that time itself can breathe slower when it blows. I set my table on the balcony and prepare my coffee. The cup is warm in my hands, but the breeze of the meltemi makes me feel lighter, freer. My hair tangles in the wind, and I don’t mind. It feels as though it whispers stories of islands I have not yet reached..
And then comes the day.. The sun rises higher, the asphalt burns, and the same wind that caressed me in the morning now blows hot, dry, almost unbearable. House tents stretch and snap, clothes beat against the lines. Down at the harbors, you hear of prohibitions, ferries held still, travelers staring at the restless sea, waiting.. Waiting is part of summer too: standing before the waves, suspended in time..
By evening, the city softens once again. The meltemi cools the streets, calling you to wander, to sit in the square or drift toward the tavernas.. The scent of grilled fish spreads through the alleys; even if you are not hungry, it pulls you in.. You sit, you share a salad, a beer, a taste of the sea.. In that moment, August feels simpler, truer, almost timeless..
The meltemi winds of August are full of contradictions, cool and scorching, tender and harsh.. They remind us that summer itself is fleeting: after heat comes breath, and then heat again. A rhythm, a pulse of the Aegean reaching our own balconies..
And I, within that rhythm, hold my morning cup and my evening glass, letting the wind brush through my hair. As if it whispers: “Everything passes, everything flows. But this summer will keep blowing inside you for a long time.”
Tatiana,
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