In the somber shadows of storm Bernard’s furious ballet, the streets of Cordoba, Andalucía became the stage for a tragic encore. A solitary figure lay embraced by the cold arms of Calle Motril’s pavement, a quiet victim of the tempest’s unbridled symphony. The cruel conductor, Bernard, wielded a baton of fierce gusts, orchestrating a tumultuous opera where branches bowed and trees trembled in an unwilling ovation.
In the wake of the storm’s passage, guardians of the city—the National Police—stepped into the melancholy theatre. Their eyes trained on the unfolding drama, as the curtains of inquiry were carefully drawn. Whispers of the night told tales of an accidental bow, a final act under Bernard’s turbulent direction.
The identity of the man, still shrouded in the mystery of the night’s performance, awaits the revelation of names and stories. As the investigation's spotlight shines, clarity will slowly take center stage, illuminating the obscured corners of this sad nocturne.
Elsewhere in the city, the storm’s performance had other unwilling actors. A youth of seventeen summers, cast into Bernard’s dramatic saga, found himself in a fierce embrace with nature’s prop—a falling tree. The outcome: a symphony of pain underscored by a fractured femur, another poignant scene in the tumultuous production.
Bernard’s chaotic choreography unleashed a ballet of destruction - a crescendo of 135 reported incidents echoing through Cordoba’s night. Trees, once the grand set pieces of the city’s landscape, were now unwilling dancers, torn and tossed aside—68 in the tragic performance. Scenery shifted, cornices, fences, and lampposts became disheveled performers in the disarray, along with 26 vehicular casualties of the tempest’s theatrical fury.
A precautionary intermission was announced by the council's directors: a closure of public parks, an interlude to allow the angry gusts their unwatched performance from Sunday's afternoon to the early hours of Monday’s dawn. A yellow warning, the subtle critique of Spain's state weather agency (Aemet), painted the sky, forecasting gusty performances reaching 80 kilometers per hour and advising souls to avoid the wooded theatres of nature’s drama.
Thus, under the heavy curtains of Bernard’s tempestuous show, the city became a stage where stories of sorrow, survival, and strength were scripted by the merciless pen of the storm’s fury.