The Flowers will grow again next Spring.

Yesterday I was doing some manual work around my garden, wearing an old t-shirt that said “class of 2012”. The sun was high and strong, way too warm for the last day of January and even the dogs around my farm seemed tired and exhausted from the heat. I immediately thought about Donald Trump and their stupid ideas about how global warming isn’t real and how so many people also doubt about it, when here in Portugal the changes are so clear. I already have flowers outside and it’s not even March.

It’s funny how thoughts fly if you give them permission to do so. As I was gardening, sweating, and thinking about presidents in our current world, an old memory came to my mind. A memory that 10 minutes later made me feel pain in a very Portuguese way of missing someone (we have a word for this feeling,‘saudade’, it that cannot be translated to any language, but it’s a universal feeling to all humanity).

Then I remembered, it hit me. Me and her sit on two white chairs,a jazz song as background, some people talking in low voice with each other, and a beautiful coffee house facing the river of my town. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about for the whole 2 our 3 hours, but I do remember one thing. It was elections time, we had to vote to decide on who would be our prime minister, and then she asked if I still had doubts and she induced me to vote for…