It has always been said, here in Spain, when a person does or says something that others consider not so much an inconvenience as a very great stupidity, a curious phrase that has its roots in the mysterious arcana of popular wisdom: it lacks a summer.

Joaquín Sabina, one of the most internationally known singer-songwriters of the Madrid scene, spoke, in one of his best-known songs, of unexpected or unwanted pregnancies, saying that of: who stole the month of April?

One of the places in Madrid that I like to visit the most in spring is none other than that voluptuous, magnificent and small tribute to beauty, which is in one of the most visited corners of our beloved Retiro Park: the Rosaleda.

So today, provided with my corresponding mask and taking all the recommended precautions, I have rewarded myself with a pleasant if suffocating ride - I have the accurate impression that summers in Madrid are becoming more torrid each year - for beloved places, soon discovering, with all its consequences, another of the things that the coronavirus has unfortunately stolen from me: spring.

And even so, resisting everything and for having, I have managed to enjoy, at least in part, the grace and beauty of some flowers, which after all, have also taught me that there is always a reason to cling to life and that there is no greater or better combat, than that of persisting for living.

NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property.