fuente
There is a monster that is usually born in the Sahara desert, a native of heat and low atmospheric pressure. It is born in desolation, in the middle of nowhere.
Fresh, gentle and serene winds come out of the high tide of the Mediterranean Sea. They walk innocent, totally oblivious to the turbulent fate that awaits them in the hilarious African Maghreb.
Those playful airs, they pass through Tunisia, Morocco, and nobody there says anything to them. They leave Egypt to reach Libya, and they still do not know everything that awaits them in the immense desert, they do not know of the horrible change that will disrupt their nature, that from passive and gentle, the furnace of the burning sands will make them hateful eddies, in sweeping basilisks that travel aimlessly towards the unknown of the South Atlantic.
The wide and restless Atlantean water, with its warm skin and subdued by the low pressure of the atmosphere, also suffers depressed, due to the cold blows of Antarctica that face the intruder swirling hot air and sand dust. At that moment, in that furtive encounter, the tropical storm is born.
Stormy, but not yet tropical. It heads towards warmer destinations, many times towards the land stairway bathed by the Caribbean Sea, the stairway to islands where the navel of the planet is. This navel is, in an outcropping of igneous rocks, coral formations and sandstones called La Hispaniola. There, on that island, the skin of the ocean sea is no longer warm, it is hot, and it encourages, it provokes the fury of the eddies and it becomes the monster of winds, of water and spirals, of gray and black clouds, of lightning, thunder, and lightning. And there is the monster, short-lived, but fearsome. It is the hurricane.
In times of hurricanes and pandemic torments.
Author: @alexandrabarraez