Rosebud ! Not just the plot device in Citizen Kane, but a real rosebud, in our garden. To notice a rosebud is, well, antiquated. And gay. But not now and especially not here. Definitely was weird in Bucharest. Only, this is Poseidi, the peninsula on a peninsula on a peninsula on a peninsula.
Beside the rosebud, a misterious yellow flower has popped out in our garden. Also, on the side road we revisited today, towards Fourka Beach, we spotted a very dashing little tree, boasting an early flower.
And tonight, a storm is blowing outside, but somehow it feels like a good one. It seems to bring change, fighting winter away. Lots of lightning and thunder, the result of a clash between the rude winter air front and the southern African air mass which is kicking Europe to life. And I don’t mean it as a political metaphor, although it would be an appropriate one.
From our living room window, we an see an olive grove. Not uncommon, of course. Lately, people have been grooming the trees, chopping away branches and burning them. Olive trees are evergreen, but I understand that in spring they should produce some tiny white flowers. That should be a pretty sight. I’ve never seen olive trees in blossom.
Right. So what is this nonsense about flowers and trees and blossoms ? What am I raving about ? Well, it’s sort of a miracle. Although I am familiar with the expression “Stop and smell the roses”, I haven’t done that in quite a while. Living in Bucharest takes it’s toll. Living in Romania, actually. You don’t have time for these things anymore. You find yourself gnarling at strangers, giving people the finger in traffic, cursing and frowning, detesting everything and everybody and thinking “Life IS miserable”. It was.
When I go to the supermarket, I wave to the Russian lady who works there. I smile at the employees who weigh my oranges and vegetables. I don’t mind that they put the fresher milk behind the older one. It’s fine, it’s their job. It’s… Life’s good. No more clenching of the teeth, no more resentment, hatred, frustration and anger. No more imagined and real violence.
I don’t really mind that the price of gas is outrageous. Or that sometimes, the internet goes down, like tonight, because of the storm. I’m smiling. It’s all worth it.
I’m a hobbit, surrounded by things that grow.
Sometimes, when I’m on the porch smoking or playing with the dog, I see some big ship in the distance, or a small fishing trawler. I see waves and hear them. I feel free, as if I’ve been in prison for a long time. The kind of prison where you’re somebody’s little bitch. Where all you think about is getting your hands on a shank and messing some guy up.
All of a sudden, I can breethe, move, hope and live. Really live. I don’t know if the cost of life here is higher. Perhaps. But there is something else to life besides costs. And I had forgotten.