From May until the beginning of the following year, I lived on the top of a mountain near the entrance of a narrow valley. In the summer, it rained continuously deep inside the valley, but outside of it, there was usually sunshine. This was due to the southwest wind blowing from the ocean. Southern clouds carried by the wind entered the valley, bringing rain on their way to the slopes. The house was built right on the border, so it was often sunny in front, while the back side was flooded. At first, it seemed worrying to me, but as I got used to it, I began to find it normal.
Low wisps of clouds crowned the surrounding mountains. When the wind blew, these fragments of clouds, like wandering spirits from the past, hesitantly roamed over the mountains as if searching for lost memories. The pure white rain swirled silently in the wind like fine snow. Since the wind rarely ceased, I even spent the entire summer without air conditioning.
The house itself was old and small, but the backyard was large. Left to its own fate, the green wilderness had grown wildly, taking over everything, while a family of cats had made their home there. When a gardener came to cut the grass, the cat family moved elsewhere. I imagine it must have felt very exposed. The family consisted of a striped mother and her three kittens. The mother was thin and exuded a sternness, as if life had reserved only trials for her.