Loss has been the dominant condition of the past weeks. So many are still dazed, picking up the pieces after enduring howling angry winds from six maddening cyclones coming one after the other. But the winds’ voice is changing.

Do you hear the familiar voice now? Do you hear “amihan’s” enchanting cool ethereal voice singing in the air and tingling your skin?

“Oh, hello there, Amihan. Nice to hear you again. But you’re late. You were supposed to be here weeks ago. But now it’s late November! We understand, though, we do. The weather is not what it used to be… but let me hug you!”

If you follow Filipino mythology, “Amihan” is often made out as a magnificent bird of vibrant green, blue and gold plumage.

As she takes off and soars high over our sad, humid archipelago at this time of the year, her huge wings drive and fan the cold winds from the icy vastness of Siberia, just below the Artic, to envelop us in cool breezes, offering us relief from the heat.

From our myths, mythical “amihan” is the benevolent, protective deity giving us comfort.

But if you don’t subscribe to ancient stories for weather matters, “amihan” is the familiar name for the northeast monsoon which marks the beginning of the dry season.

Typically, the northeast monsoon season lasts from October — after the torrential southwest monsoon or “habagat” wraps up — until February or March, when the dry season starts. “Amihan” this year, however, was tardy.

In officially announcing the “amihan” season last Tuesday, the weather bureau said dryly, “the northeasterly wind flow is expected to be more dominant in most of the country, bringing cold and dry air,” which will be felt first in Northern Luzon.

“Amihan” is now upon us, says solemn Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical, and Astronomical Services Administration (PAGASA), largely because a high-pressure area strengthening over Siberia triggered a surge in northeasterly winds.

Seasonal northeasterly winds, however, not only let the heat saunter off, they also beckon past and present high seas adventurers.

Both “habagat” and “amihan” are tradewinds known to us for centuries, says historian Ambeth Ocampo.

These tradewinds were known to marauding Filipino pirates from the Visayas, Chinese traders and Spanish conquistadors alike.

Not much is known about the mysterious band of tattooed Visayan pirates who raided the south-eastern shores of Song Dynasty China (1174 AD to 1189 AD) nor of their seafaring prowess in sailing the winds.

Chinese porcelain traders, meanwhile, were known to have sailed their junks from Guangdong and Fujian provinces to the Philippines and Indonesia during late “amihan” around March and then returned around June, before the “habagat” winds.

Spanish colonizers in the 16th century also knew about these tradewinds but called them by other names, says Ocampo.

Spaniards called the dry season winds — which first blow from the southeast to the north and finally directly from the north — “brisa,” which begins in November and lasts till the end of May.

“Vendavales,” on the other hand, is what the Spaniards called the strong winds beginning from the west and then southwest, which is usually evident by the end of May and the middle of June.

At any rate, we all now are almost in the “amihan” spirit, its comforting atmosphere highly provocative of the nostalgic bacchanalias of the Christmas and New Year holidays.

But even before those sweet fragrances, this late November “amihan” directly appeals to our senses and evokes, as French author Henri Bosco put it, “a time of extreme balance between the seasons, a miraculous moment when the world was poised on pure ridge.” These are the moments to savor to the fullest.

So, from whatever hidey-hole you are peeking at your phone screens in this entwining vision-configured global-networked electronic days of ours, raise your head and gaze wordlessly at the sparse clouds veiling the skies on most early mornings, even as you savor the delicious coolness.