The phenomenon of gardens and parks as places of escape from the world. An alternative reality built over centuries. Places offering relief, solace, and privacy—both in times when no such thing as a right to privacy existed, and in an era when we voluntarily surrender it. Places of escape from the everyday, sanctuaries for the weary soul, where we can cast off our masks at the entrance without fear. Paradise lost.
The pocket dreaming of a dream in a dreamy place
in which you run away from me
into my arms.
The heady heat of lazy afternoon hugs your tired body just like my eager hands.
Between sun and shadow,
teasing laughter and rustling leaves,
joyful desire and serious thought,
you see your inner self and look for a way out.
The sound of the gong does not belong here and yet it is here;
it separates the single images as in a dream,but you assume you are awake
because otherwise you might be someone else’s fantasy.
It is a drowsy day. I lie in the grass with my eyes closed, savoring the feel of the sun’s rays on my face and body. Blades of grass tickle my skin, and the wind caresses my limbs like the tenderest of lovers. I exist. The sky clouds over; the rain comes, soaking me through until I merge with the soil. I cease to exist. I open my eyes. I lie motionless. I am alone. Suddenly, the silence is pierced by the cries of parrots and the rush of their flight. I am reborn.
