When I closed my eyes it was easy to forget where I was. I smelled dark, moist earth and luscious green leaves; delicate purple flowers swaying in the brisk breeze; strong old wood of the trees which surrounded me. I walked along the stone path through tunnels of trees, weaving in between colorful patches of garden and wet grass. Each garden was arranged according to color, giving somebody the impression that they were walking along a rainbow. There were wooded paths, and a sky bridge running in between laden branches to my right. The distant sound of waterfalls tickled my ears. I turned left in the labyrinth, coming to the wide lawn which was reminiscent of the broad strokes of an artist. I blinked at the dazzling blue sky as sunlight glinted off of the massive glass greenhouse. It was a strange meeting place of plants, trees, glass, concrete, water, and people.
the parc andre-citroen: http://equipement.paris.fr/parc-andre-citroen-1791
I walked quickly, hugging the side of the building. Cold fingers tucked into the folds of the leather jacket which was acting as my second skin. I looked to my left, the buildings gone. There was a gate, a path, a garden. Plump foliage strained against the hold of the slender metal railing, reaching up to grasp the wind. I smelled roses briefly, like a hint of sweet in an ocean of savory. The ivy-clad walls were tall enough to block out the sounds of nearby traffic, and it was quiet except for my own footsteps. Above my head, beige dandruff floated from a tall tree. The fluffy material seemed to melt into the sight of the cloud, and for a second I was in the sky.
the local garden/square at rue de la tocqueville
No comments:
Post a Comment