The Hamattan Dairy

The dry season is back, the chill and dryness can never be forgotten and almost never missed,I am already missing her - the rainy season of course.
This weather with its gentle wind blows dry and irritating dust. The weather - she creeps all over even in closed quaters, creeping through holes and vents, welcoming herself into your room without your request.
Her friend, the fog that comes stares you in the face, chosing to block from view your sight as though telling you that your future is unclear as the new year coming, serving as curtain blocking your present from the future, the past on the other hand is past and plain when you look back, but some what obscured by what we want to believe.
The chill, oh that wicked chill comes in the morning to harass you, he gets under your skin quickly causing an allergic reaction to anything cold and if you think a cardigan will fix your problems in the long term wait till the noon breaks.
And then the sun shines so bright and yet you can still stare at it. It looks like a disk, a plain white disk but the heat, yes that heat makes you wish you had
beared with the cold in the morning; the cardigan becomes a burden to carry, an ackward burden, while your mates unbutton their sleeves to allow air through you look like a bear in the desert sweating it out. He also mocks you accusing you of not keeping tidy cause your hands and feet are white
as though you never washed them, your face peppered with dust and your hair a shade lighter that what it is, oh sun.
So you remove the sweater thinking its over but wait till evening breaks, when the sun (a shell of itself) goes down, then cool weather sets in again asking you if you missed her and circle begins again.