In the city I call my home, for two months (usually March and April), the winds come. Not everyday, but often enough and very suddenly. On those days, it's rare to see the blue of the sky after the early morning hours. Instead, the sky is colored tan, and there is a constant rushing sound in your ears, and your lungs are coated with dust, and there is a thin layer of dirt on your skin.
During those two months, it's impossible to take a bath without first taking a shower, unless you like muddy bath water. Car washes are on the brink of shutting down at the end of April, because after the first few days, we all give up on trying to keep our cars clean...but on the plus side, wind shield wiper fluid sales go up.
Everyone complains when the winds come...but these are my favorite months of the year. I love the fury, and invisible destruction. And the winds bring the warmth of summer, and the smells of the places they've just been. They bring new dreams, and carry away all of my failures and disappointments.
After the winds, I am left clean (in a metaphorical sense of course) and given a chance to begin again.