Appreciation...

There's a period of time during each winter, which lasts a few days usually, in which I develop a very strong urge for the summer. I just can't wait for the dry heat to come and burn the surface of the earth. I find it inconceivable that a few months back I was suffocating by the heat, cursing every afternoon hour, having 5 showers a day and praying for the winter to come.

My imagination is flooded with images from dry, rocky, barren island hillsides, scarce yellowish vegetation and smells of oregano, thyme and dust blowing everywhere. I remember past excursions in such sceneries, walking up and down the rocks to reach some remote, secluded beach, a small bottle of water in one hand and a towel in the other, stepping into prickly bushes and searching in concentration for the best place to step next, avoiding a shaky stone or the odd spider web. And the heat and wind so hot and strong that it's almost deafening.

Then lying on an empty beach for the biggest part of the day, with two small flat stones on my eyes to avoid the terrible orange rays of the sun even with my eyelids closed. Until late in the afternoon, at the sunset, still hot, unable to resist the warm embrace of the sand and pick myself up, studying the miniscule, broken, worthless yet beautiful seashells, or following the desperate attempts of some insect to traverse one after the other the lilliputian sand dunes that lie between my face and the next rock, a couple of meters away.

And all of this almost aches. I just can't wait for summer to come. I know of course that when summer comes, it'll all be different. I mean sure, there will be days like this, but it won't be exactly the same.

Apparently I only really trully appreciate an experience when I am far away from it, in whichever sense. It's a pity... but hey, that's me I guess.