The Weather, the Cops, and a Knife

I have been noticing a pattern with the spring weather here; it has repeated itself a few times and it is comfortingly regular. At first I thought that the weather was a bit erratic, but I know realize that it is bizarrely regular. To start at the beginning of the cycle, you have beautiful days. Gorgeous blue skies with very few clouds if any, cool but not cold temperatures, pleasant breezes, and almost no humidity. As the days go by, the weather turns warmer, the skies cloudier, and the atmosphere stickier. When it begins to feel too hot, too humid, too gross to go outside, all of a sudden, almost from no where, the skies will fill with thick blankets of gray and, out of the what-used-to-be-blue, rain falls in a steady stream from the faucets of heaven, with great intensity, for hours straight. However, only an hour into the rainstorm, anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside will feel a drastic change in temperature. Where it once was hot, it is now quite chilly, where the atmosphere was humid, now the only humidity is soaking his clothes. It is a bit strange but also a bit nice to have such predictability in the weather. I hear, however,t aht once the summer starts the cool and rainy stages will be skipped and it will be hot and muggy and gross day-in-day-out. When that happens I am fleeing to the South.
In other news, after my final Spanish class today, I returned quickly to the apartment where I picked up my book of short stories, a pear I had bought earlier, and my pocketknife. Well, the pocketknife is a Leatherman, and a bit scarier looking than a Swiss Army knife; the blade is probably twice as big and quite sharp, but it is the most benign knife in my possession, and I do like to cut up my pears while I eat them. I walked to a nearby park to sit outside, read, and eat chunks of pear, I found a nice spot on the grass, and commenced my snack and a very good story by Anatole France. As I sat there cutting up my apples with my slightly intimidating knife, all of a sudden, I felt a presence over me and a shadow blocked out the sun. It was a cop! A police, staring me down while I sat on the grass cutting up my pear with a Leatherman in public! "Buenas tardes," he said. "Buenas tardes," I responded, waiting for him to confiscate my knife or haul my butt to jail or whatever they do around here. He says, "no es permite a sentar a la cesped." "Que," I asked, surprised?
He repeated himself. I was not allowed to sit on the grass, I must go read and cut up my pear on a bench. I like this country.