In the days after the Marathon, the summery weather here faded, turned gray, gave way to rain and cool temperatures. Bit of a shock after such ideal conditions. This is why so many locals appear reluctant to give up their winter outwear on lovely days: the possibility of getting shafted by the sly bastards in the meteorological racket.
This last weekend: rain, on and off. And on and off. And on and off. Yesterday: Cool, cloudy, damp. Grumbling complaints, audible everywhere I went during recent days, grew in number and volume. In class last night, a young woman from Holland and our instructor, Jesús, compared these recent days to winter in the Netherlands, agreeing they were unpleasantly similar.
Early this morning, 5 or 6 a.m.: pulled myself out of bed for a stumble to the loo. Passing through the living room, something caught my eye: a spot of brightness, glowing through the shades. The full moon, hanging in a clear, cloudless sky, shining so brightly its light penetrated the fabric, emblazoning it with a golden, incandescent circle. I gave the scene outside a fast squint, confirming the sky's overnight change. Went back to bed with a smile on my face.
Had to get up and out early this morning. Stepped out into a Madrid awash in chilly sunlight. The temperature sailed nicely upward, by midday spring had returned. Not premature summer, but spring, soft and comfortable. Compensated a bit for having dragged myself to the gym on a day when my little body wanted nothing to do with that kind of torture.
This morning -- trying to ignore the twit with the camera at la Plaza de Santa Barbara, Madrid:
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 1:41 PM [+]