Mistral is on a tear.
It is the third day of rampage.
Today he wants to break something
A hapless pepper tree is a target.
He bends and twists him at improbable angles
Rips his green berries
Sends them to fly off then fall in the gutter.
Late blooming oleanders fold in a heap
As raging gales whip them.
A distressed little magpie
Cries somewhere in the pine above
while mistral screams through wires.
Cold wind and headaches
polished lenticular clouds
plastic bags airborne
trash run amok
grit in teeth and eyes.
Dirt devils guard graveled roads
sails of sand ply the beach
The sun scorches without warming
The Med sparkles shivers
Of the bluest kind but no smile.
Boats fight their mooring
Freedom becomes death.
Mistral is dealing pain