Palermo leads us to the Botanical Gardens, always a pleasant discovery no matter the city, and here, we have the added bonus of a wrought iron greenhouse, the likes of which send me green with envy and fantasy, for while some people dream of three-car garages, I yearn for a place to garden year long.
This is the perfect place to scarf our sandwiches, me, a local treat stuffed with Argentinian charcuterie, slices pink and orange and who knows what else.
Nymphs come out to play peek-a-boo from their overgrown corners, pretty little statues and curious ones, all pointing to their muse, a beautiful little lady, an Argentinian Pocahontas bathing in her wild stream. We come upon her like the stag upon Artemis, she unaware of our presence, basking in her own self, hair cascading down her back, curves casting a beautiful silhouette, approachable, real.
Beautiful little stone maiden, you bewitch and delight.