A Street Called “Bucharest During Spring I …”

"What is poetry?
To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower. 
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand.
And eternity in an hour." — William Blake

A Street Called

“Bucharest During Spring I Love You Best”

Of all the seasons and dressings of Bucharest, to my perception spring suits it best.

During spring, Bucharest wears itself differently.

There is this je ne sais quoi about it.

The parks are merry green, flowers cherry bloom, birds chirp among branches.

Its skirts are made of freesias, hyacinths and endless rows of tulips.

Magnolias adorn the streets of Bucharest.

It’s a sheer exhibition of magnolia “paintings”.

Varied in height and size.

With darker pink hues or with light whitish hues.

Bucharest revives in spring.

It’s charming in the full semantics of the word.

It wears a curtain of purple, white and pink hyacinths.

Its heart blooms into layers and layers of joyfully colourful tulips.

Although I can’t breathe in the smell of the branches, of the grass and of the flowers, properly, underneath the mask… the rapture of spring imprints on my retina.

Gratefully, it lasts for days.

The painting of spring is glued to the sight.

It’s been three days since I walked the alleys of the Cismigiu Gardens.


I have the painting of spring encrypted on my retina.

Hence it is impossible not to visualise it within.

Breathing in awe moments while awe walking surely works wonders for the brain.

It’s rapid teleportation into a realm of sheer beauty. Of nature's mesmerizingly fragrant scents.

The perfume of nature is incomparable.

The other day, I didn’t take my phone with me.

And I dove myself into nature's layering painting of beauty in front of my eyes.


Breathing in awe moments during walks surely works wonders for the brain.

I have been doing this for years not knowing it's called awe walking.

I stood there in front of the magic of the moment searching for the best angle to print screen the moment on my retina.

Thinking to myself:

How would the painter of words describe the moment?

How would he un-hue the moment of its colours to keep its natural veil?

Amongst all these blissful paintings, which one he’d choose to rest his eyes upon …

How would the brush of his mastermind paint the syllables and the vowels of inner awe exclamations as words, faced with these Divine paintings?

"The verse of Tao Te Ching comes to mind:
Look, it cannot be seen - it is beyond form.
Listen, it cannot be heard - it is beyond sound.
Grasp, it cannot be held - it is intangible.
These three are indefinable;
Therefore they are joined in one.
From above it is not bright;
From below it is not dark:
An unbroken thread beyond description.
It returns to nothingness.
The form of the formless,
The image of the imageless,
It is called indefinable and beyond imagination."
( Lao Tzu - Chapter 14)
Today I came back.

The colours of the alley have turned more vibrant.

And I have filmed the moment for him to see it too.

I love spring walking… especially in Bucharest.

It fills me with joyful awe!

The first ’tis the season of the year... isn't it?

Of all the cities, I know I will — I will cherish my spring walks in Bucharest, the most.

There is something… about it.

A scentful quelque chose as it is.

That being said, I have had one of the best awe walks in a while.

I should be so lucky to speak more of the benefits of awe walking some time soon.

For now, I have got my eyes set on the one named after the French botanist Pierre Magnol, Lady Magnolia.

And who's coming along... down the alley "During Spring I Love You Best", dear Bucharest?

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