The short story about an abandoned garden with blooming orange trees at the foot of the Acropolis

Of course, that would seem like a trivial story without the spectacular element. Every story is determined by characters, circumstances, time and places. My little story about this garden probably would not have been the same on another day at the same time.
I say this because I chose to ride on the streets of Athens leading to the Acropolis, just on the Easter day when the streets were completely deserted.

There was no one on the streets, early in the afternoon. I could not imagine what Athens would look like in a typical day. It seemed an empty city. This helped me to get into a nearly meditative state as I walked slowly towards the Acropolis.
As I crossed the city, I admired the buildings, the trees and the atmosphere of tranquility. Sometimes a loud voice on the balconies made me startle, or very rarely the engine of a lost car through the streets.
I often stopped admiring the street art that is so abundant in Athens. Almost every store has a graffity.
Where else would be an abundance of graffiti if not in Athens?
This type of art has its beginnings actually in the Ancient Greece.

At some point, at the end of a street, I saw the Acropolis on the top of the hill and I knew it was not that much anymore.

The streets up to the plateau are cobbled and narrow.

I took some pictures and as I walked up the city's panorama unfolded and I realized how big this city is.
I have often thought of how many steps have passed over there for so many thousands of years? How many destinies and lives knows this city?

Many stories I knew from childhood about a land governed by other laws and guided by gods, goddesses and many other divine and semi-divine figures from ancient Greek mythology, came into my mind.
I think The Legends of Olympus a children's book by Romanian author Alexandru Mitru was one of my most beloved readings in my childhood. I remember how much I liked Athens, the goddess born right from the forehead of Zeus. Aphrodite, Zeus, Hera, Apollo, Artemis, they all came in my mind while I was ''climbing'' the hill to the Acropolis. I was intrigued by god’s Eros and Thanatos characters without knowing that later I will meet these two psychological concepts belonging to the Freudian school.
Up on the plateau, as I expected, the archaeological site was closed because it was the Easter. Several tourists, lost too, were taking pictures.

I rested some time up on a large stone and I admired the city.
The sun burned with power.
I was sitting there for a while, resting, and trying to do a little mindfulness and live the moment.

You may have been bored reading this, but my little story is just beginning.

At one point I decided to go back and I chose another downhill road.
There are some wonderful olive trees there, specific Mediterranean plants, and the old houses have an air locked in time, although among them are very beautiful and new villas, which preserve the architecture of the place.

After a few hundred meters I felt a special fragrance, delicious and delicate, slightly fruity. It was so quiet around, only the birds were singing. And then I saw it! A garden! It was the garden of a Greek house that seemed uninhabited for a very long time.

Have you ever felt the blooming orange tree smell?

The blooming orange trees were spreading a beautiful scent, almost magic. In the grass that had grown undisturbed, a few amphoras were thrown and lost.

Lemons and blooming orange trees had fruits at all stages, and on the ground were the ripe fruit, many of them already in putrefaction.

Then I noticed the cat.

It seemed to be there to take care of the garden. This was my first thought… or maybe it is just passing? Yet she seemed familiar with the place.
The presence of this abandoned garden has deeply touched me.
It is almost difficult to say in words why. I have been thinking many times since then at this garden trying to decipher the meaning and later I realized why.
It was about peace, inner peace.
Although it seemed uncaring and abandoned, the garden was in perfect harmony.
I took some pictures with my phone among the planks of the fence, with the fear of disturbing this harmony.
I stood there for a while, watching, and what thought came in my mind was about the Ithaca poem of C.P. Cavafy.
Yes, that's all about!
In our lifetime journey we're trying to find our own Ithaca.
Probably the symbolism of this forgotten garden, abandoned but in harmony, like a lost paradise we all aspire to, touched me a lot.
There was nothing sad, everything was like a pure joy and peace.
And I was grateful.

I have been thinking many times since then at that garden. I've tried to invent even a story about it.
What happened to be left alone?
Where are the owners?
Have they gone forever?
Are they coming back, are they dead?
I imagine that a writer could start a novel, enjoying the meeting with such a magical garden.

I think there is not much to say in the end.

Thank you for your time!