There are such storms that change the horizon, leaving blue stains in the sky where it was once clean and clear. In the end, an eerie calm appears when the birds that have departed from the storm fill their trills in the light of the first rays of the sun. All that remains is a nervous flutter of wounded wings, barely audible after the beat of a small bird's heart.
Once you told me that the wind is silent. That his sound can be heard only in collisions. Last night, he was crying wildly as he tore the trees to shreds. Under these terrible sounds, I recalled the first time you said my name.
You were the storm that changed my horizon. After the devastation and the flood, I began to look more clearly at things. Since then, there has been no one like you.
Since 1953, people began to call the hurricanes names to remember the damage they caused. So we could sort out the causes and effects. And so I can remember you.