Thousands of tiny lavender trumpets blossom into the urban terrain, prominently announcing spring’s arrival in a city that otherwise relies on subtleties to know that a season has changed.
A habitual walk in the park becomes a surreal experience—a stroll through an intoxicating purple haze. Flowers fall from the trees like snow, covering cars and sidewalks in florid adornment like hippies on parade. As shopkeepers rush to sweep away petals in their mechanized tradition of tidying up, I secretly wish they would leave the streets as they were, that they would let nature take over…if only for a while longer…at least until I’ve passed by.
Jacarandas, wipe away my tears.
Jacarandas, brush away my fears.
Jacarandas, make me wonder what is real and what is really worth it.
For under their spell, nothing feels urgent, and I reason that blissfully frolicking among flowers is the best possible plan for an April afternoon in Mexico City.
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