There’s a storm coming from the Northwest, bringing dark clouds on the horizon over the sea; causing the waves to come crushing down on what rocks they have left here on Malta; spraying the salty water in my face and mixing it with the tears that the same wind is blowing out of my eyes. I’m looking for a dry rock to sit down and write some quiet lines about our arrival, yesterday night; flight 117 from Amsterdam, stopover in Milan. What a contrast between the snow storm we drove through on our way to Schiphol airport, hoping the snow wouldn’t delay our flight; and the humid, lukewarm sea breeze that stroked us in the evening when we got off our plane (the best way you can leave a plane: on a staircase, down to the concrete of the runway). Today I have been stroked by spring as well: as I found out after the short walk along the coast line, looking out over the rocks and the pounding waves, amidst already flowering daisies and borago and euphorbia: leaving yellow stains of pollen on my pants. Spring has come, and gone again, for the clouds are getting near, covering the sun, chilling the air and driving me inside.