Momentary Blindness 2

I could feel my pants growing damp from the accumulated water on the bench I was sitting on, even with a raincoat laid out underneath me. There was a faint earthy smell, the kind of smell you only get after rain, accompanied by an even fainter smell of oranges, which makes sense considering the place is called the Giardino degli Aranci, or the Orange Garden. It made me think of the Charles Baudelaire poem of the smell of green tamarinds perfuming the air. The crunch of the pebble walkways under foot followed people around as they made their way through the garden. I could hear a mom walking past with her kids as they complained about not being able to sit in the stroller. A man to my left is talking in some Slavic language, to no response from the others in the park. The birds had come back out after the rain and a myriad of chirps and squawks were heard from up above. The trees they sat in moved in the slightest breeze and would release droplets of water in spurts upon those below them; they would hit the puddles and the pebbles, and even fall on me. I continuously had to wipe off the pages of my journal from the water falling on it, leaving my hand and sleeve damp. I shifted in my seat and the raincoat I was sitting on slipped off the bench and onto the ground, leaving nothing in between the cold marble and me. The breeze picked up again and the trees dropped water onto my upturned face. The person sitting to my right idly asks if it's still raining, without really expecting an answer.

(Giardino degli Aranci 5/27/19)