Winter-no-winter

Winter-no-winter has come to Madrid.

Winter because all its imperfections pile up ahead of us. No-winter because its fresh and cool blessings aren’t for us to enjoy.

The imperfections are as follows:
- differences in temperature between the intestines and the skin of the city, running regularly like the metro trains between sweat and shivers,
- dew on the inside of our introverted, relcutant windows,
- a natural disaster each time more than three snowflakes decide to jump off the clouds,
- salt, like a spy getting under our bed and into our bahtroom,
- a hat, a scarf and gloves, uncontrollable tests for our short-term memory,
- a breaking umbrella, shamelessly showing off its charms in the wind,
- a passion for chocolate not founded by any malnutrition,
- morning darkness, evening darkness, rationed light,

The blessings are:
- a covering of the old, a general whitening, an uncovering of another version of the same,
- graphic and sound effects of boots on the snow,
- a tide of gratitude towards the four walls for their generous cosiness,
- the peace and quiet of a flurry of snow,
- the sun seen through the prism of snow,
- a fast before the comeback of greeness, a spiritual preparaion for silly spring joy, commonly confused with being in love,

For these and other reasons I know that I will always and everywhere miss both spring and winter.