By neuropoeta on Skatehive
Today, as I crossed the threshold of my sister's building, I climbed the stairs with my mind set on a coffee and a casual chat, the kind of Sunday conversation that doesn't go down in history. But then, as I leaned out onto the balcony to greet her plants, I stumbled upon a small urban miracle. I'm not quite sure what I expected to see. My sister has always had a green thumb, but what I saw today far exceeded the category of "pretty balcony." There, in that concrete space suspended several stories high, was a small botanical garden, and among all the plants, my eyes fixed on some leaves that seemed to have emerged from a velvety dream. They were begonias, but not just any begonias. I stood there mesmerized, staring at them, and I knew I had to touch them. The stem, thick and firm, was covered in soft fuzz, almost like down, making it look like the leg of a tiny rabbit. But the true masterpiece was the leaves. A brown so deep and reddish, so intense, that it seemed as if they had captur