Cold Snap with a Twist

As Salinger said, poets always take the weather so personally. Well, bar some formally defective haikus composed during my restless high school years, I am no poet, yet I did often have a tendency to, well, let's be frank here, bitch and moan about the weather. I like to think that a positive sign of my getting wiser (and older) is that I have befriended the weather. Even the unfashionably sudden, in your face kind of minus ten on a Wednesday morning. Because when it compensates for itself with lovely sunrises, you can't really hold a grudge against a morning freeze.

The Unsuspected Isle-Corfu

The plumbing is still somewhat eccentric, Zeus occasionally gets upset and sends in a storm, even the cheapest wines are alright, feta tastes like feta and olives taste like olives and you realize how extraordinary that actually is, by some miracle people generally survive giant buses maneuvering on really narrow streets, Turkish coffee is transfixed into Greek one and pasta is a Corfiot specialty, giant Airbuses breeze by your moussaka, there's a cat at every corner and most of them still manage to thrive, the whole madness has a sublime scent of flowers and cypress and the sea is blue. That incredible postcard blue, that should not exist, except it does.