The world smelled different after lockdown. For 55 days I had been gazing down my street at the unreachable green glow of Parco Valentino; before the pandemic, I walked by the river just about every day. After two months confined to a one-bedroom apartment and the 200m radius of streets around it, months in which going outside meant heading to the bins or the supermarket downstairs, I had gotten used to a palette of walls, roof tiles, asphalt, and parked cars. The existence of so much green space was overwhelming to the senses. I ascertained my social distance, and then I inhaled deeply.

The season had changed without us. The park had transformed. It was warmer, sweeter, filled with perfumes. The grasses had been left to run wild, and had turned into meadows, rich with insects. Happy dogs leapt in the knee-high weeds, disrupting bumblebees. The river was luxurious from recent rain. The magnificent plane trees that line the paths were verdant, shady, and filling the air with pollen. If that inhalation brought tears to my eyes, it was only partly due to hayfever.