Spring is coming. Hush! Quiet. There are living things around. The flowers and fruits – again – will fill the garden. I’ll soon open up the gate, when you arrive, at sunset, and fill it with gold. It’s the place where we are kids and it’s always summer, where we must whisper, so that our voices are covered by crickets and hoopoes and our own hearts beating.
The moon is not the place where you can find what you’ve lost. It’s all here, in my secret garden, along with everything you want, everything you need. We’ll get lost in the footpaths and play hide-and-seek among the plants of jasmine. There are many of them, so many… I had not thought this place could hold so many, strawberry perfumed, filling the air – all the way to where you stay.
I used to lock them up into my living room, in my dreams. Jasmine plants with roots so big, they were uprooting the wood blocks of the floor, obstructing window panes and shutters with their branches, and snowing tiny white flowers – that choked us all with their perfume. But now they’re all here, in my secret garden.