This city

Zaragoza is a strange city. In many ways it is a very good city too live in, nothing is very far away, pretty corners here and there, neither too noisy noor too quiet. But it lacks colour. The buildings are made of brown bricks, the roofs of reddish tiles. The earth itself has a beige-pinkysh tinge, and here and there this beige-brown-pinkish blob is interrupted by green leafed threes. The hills in the horizon have little vegetation, framing the city in sand.
The people dress in blacks and browns and blues, conservative even the teenagers, as they dress in their uniform of the season from the leading economic chains, I get it in them, adolesence can be all about fitting in, but seeing something different is so rare. You have the ocasional spanish version of "alternative", but a uniform all the same, with the baggy harem pants, dreads and tight striped top. There is a lack of fun? I think so.
Therefore, frothy smelling lavender bushes is a relief, a sight for bored eyes and for the citydwelling nose. In my balcony garden I will have lavender bursting out of its containers, perfuming the air with it's clean sweet smell, and soothing the eye with its delicate lavender-blue.