The weeks leading up to Easter in El Paso, Texas are marked by los vientos de cuaresma, or the winds of Lent.
It’s been like this since anyone can remember.
Newcomers to the city are always taken aback by their first experience, partly thrilled by the novelty and partly hypnotized by the magnitude of the hazy swirling sand.
But first impressions fade fast. There is nothing pleasant about it. High-velocity winds pulverize the city with the sand of the Chihuahua Desert. The grains insinuate themselves into every car engine, window sill, filling your nostrils and even getting stuck between your teeth. After-school activities are cancelled; parents leave work early; traffic slows to a crawl. The jagged peaks north and south of the city vanish, and so does the steel border wall. Everywhere haze obscures the sky, and it can be nearly impossible to tell the sun from the moon.
Verily, verily, it’s apocalyptic. And it happens every year.
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