The mountain did not slide dramatically. No landslide, no thunder. Only that slow, almost imperceptible yielding that eventually says: it cannot stay like this.
One can start planning in such moments. Or simply do the obvious.
So concrete blocks arrived: heavy hollow units, stacked and filled with soil. No aesthetics, no vision, only the simple idea that the slope should remain where it was.
That was the beginning. Nothing more.
A few plants went into the blocks. Perhaps five. One in every tenth block, not because anyone had a concept, but because it seemed sensible not to leave the soil bare.
Then something happened that was in no plan. The plants grew.
Not neatly and not within the framework, but as plants grow when one lets them.
Five became more. Separate points became a surface. Eventually the construction itself disappeared from view.
The concrete blocks were still there, but they had lost their meaning. What remained was a wave of plants: dense, soft and alive. Something never intended that worked precisely for that reason.
One could have intervened, cut back, ordered and structured. But sometimes it is wiser to do nothing for a while.
Serenity is not inactivity. It is enduring what happens without immediately wanting to correct it.
The slope held. The plants took over.
Only when everything worked almost too well did the next idea appear. Not planned, more sensed.
The surface had become too even, too calm, too perfect. So it was disturbed.
Bulbs were placed in the carpet where they supposedly had no room. They received brief help, a small head start, a path upward. Then came the same thing again: waiting.
Some made it. Others did not. Those that came through did so with a naturalness no one can manufacture. Suddenly there were flowers, not arranged but appearing, like thoughts one had not planned.
Music played quietly in the background: Cesária Évora, Portuguese saudade from Africa. The music explains nothing. It is simply there and carries. Just like the garden.
In the end there is no concept and no plan to copy, only a sequence: a problem is solved, something grows, one allows it, intervenes when necessary and then lets go again.
The mountain was not moved and not designed. It was occupied, with patience, a few decisions and trust that not everything must be planned.
Perhaps that is the only thing worth taking from it: the things that remain rarely arise from control, but from the courage to let them grow.
