A Moroccan garden, and a tale of contrasts

They had been to Finland together.  He, the dapper former Moroccan minister of health, and she, the Morocco office director of an international organization. 

It was February in Helsinki that year, they remembered, as the bougainvillea climbed over their heads in his Moroccan garden.

With a pink and green Moroccan fountain glimmering nearby, they reminisced about how their coats had not been warm enough in the Nordic air.

 

Sitting in the dappled sunlight in their light cotton shirts, she remembered that the rosy cheeked Finnish babies had been swaddled in lamb fleeced strollers.

While the water rushed into his garden’s reflecting pool, she recalled the delicious fish caught through holes in the Finnish ice.

He told her that he swam twice a day in his stone-clad infinity pool.  In Helsinki, Finns of all ages had jumped into frigid lakes before walking into steamy saunas.

His white house and matching white flowers were a reminder of Finland’s pristine white snow.  The snow capped Moroccan Atlas Mountains many miles in the distance, an echo of the time they had once spent……… in a Winter wonderland.

   

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P.S. Hop over to Lalla Lydia's blog for a great round up of Moroccan cookbooks. Yum.