A morning at the Botanical Gardens

I got out of the underground and that eerie feeling hit me hard. It is becoming all too familiar, the weirdness of a city in lockdown. Shops and bars shut. Apocaliptic creepiness.

There was some people in the streets though, and the sun was shinning on what felt like a spring morning, only it is still January… The benefits of living by the Mediterranean coast I guess. There aren’t really many seasons here, but it was kind of a fast-forward jump to some future. The time goes by bizarrely these days anyway. It is because of the lack of celebrations, sister says.

Inside the botanical gardens time really ceased to exist. The trees, the plants, the cats, and the greenhouses co-living like in a parallel universe. Ah! The greenhouses! One could just move in. Make a bed beside the bromeliads, or underneath the ferns, and have the soil scents rock you to sleep. No sign of a life outside those walls.

I sneakily picked some leaves and small branches, because that is what I seem to do a lot nowadays. I collect them and photograph them. Sometimes I keep them into plastic bags until I get home, and then I do try to propagate them. Potting them up in soil. And also using them as models whilst I think of what the next steps are, if I ever figure that out.

Spending a morning at the botanical gardens is something I forget to do more often. And I should, because it is always a calming and healing experience that later on turns into great inspiration so I can go back to my botanical art.

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