This river divides into two branches: one flows like a normal city canal, with deep green water and well-defined banks; the other appears more like a natural stream, transparent, as if it flows directly from nature. Crossing the bridge, I was drawn to this wilder watercourse, which flows close to the walls of the buildings and reminded me of Venice, with its liquid intimacy. Throughout my observations, music was always present: whether it was the background music from the “BOHO” café or the sound of an accordion played by a street artist on the bridge, the memory of this space has remained with me as something alive, in motion, full of beauty.

To get a better view of this stretch of water, I chose to visit the adjacent Treves Park. Twice I was unable to enter due to inaccurate opening hours listed on Google Maps. When I finally did manage to get in, I discovered a secret garden: small, concealed by trees, with an inconspicuous entrance. A waterway divides the park into two parts, connected by two footbridges. On one side, there is a mound with historical ruins, and on the other, trees of all shapes and sizes. During my visit, I met another visitor who, like me, was there for the first time: neither of us knew when the park closed. When the park keeper announced closing time, I felt even more drawn to the mysterious charm of this place.

On my second exit from the park, I chose to leave instead through a small gate, not knowing where it led. A long, accessible wooden ramp leads right there. Outside, I noticed a mural depicting a medic, and I realised that the park is located within a hospital complex. Shortly afterwards, a family came out of this gate: the father was carrying a rucksack with a large cross sticking out of it, and they were all dragging suitcases towards the hospital buildings. I then realised that this park is not just a place for people to walk their dogs, but also a special gateway, a place designed to offer a moment of relief to patients and their families. This space speaks many languages.

In the park, the most striking contrast is between a tree leaning bent over almost to the ground and the orderly buildings in the background. It is an image of untamed nature encountering human geometry. But the truth is more bitter: nature is fenced in, and the city continues to expand, increasingly covered in concrete.

All my observations took place on sunny days. Along the river, the sun shone so brightly that most of the tourists, dressed in heavy clothing, took off their jackets and tied them around their waists. The water was reflecting the light so intensely that it forced you to squint. The sound of the rushing water striking the stones was constant. At Pontecorvo, before the summer heat arrived, the wisteria was in bloom, hanging almost to the ground: every time I passed by, their fresh scent caressed me.

The bridge I chose is distinguished by the frequent presence of an accordion player. The park, in my opinion, has a characteristic wooden fence that reminds me of a traditional Chinese garden, where natural materials are used to create harmony with the landscape. This gave me a strange feeling of familiarity. From Pontecorvo, you can easily see the Basilica of St. Anthony in the distance, a landmark that helps you orientate yourself immediately.

The most frequent visitors to the park are people with their dogs. Along the river, you will often see couples studying or embracing. On the stone benches there are people sleeping in the sun. Inside there is an area of white gravel where people often stop to talk. I, with my camera, am often asked questions: couples along the river ask me what I'm photographing, curious passers-by stop. Everyone has a different reason for being there.

In the park there is an old pavilion, now closed off by a fence. Its white walls are covered with dark green moss at the bottom. On the inside wall, near the central opening, there are lots of engravings: names left by visitors, often written in pairs and enclosed in hearts, to declare their love.

The park is open to everyone free of charge during opening hours, but from the outside it is difficult to guess what lies within. The entrance isn't too obvious, surrounded by private properties. On one side are villas, and I imagine that for those who live there, the park is like a big green balcony. On the other side are offices and car parks, often deserted. There's also a hospital, but the thick vegetation on the fence prevents you from seeing inside. The river flows under the Pontecorvo bridge, hidden by loose branches.

The park is home to numerous historical relics, with signs telling their past histories. Each tree has a plaque with its name and the park is almost like a botanical garden: visitors can learn to recognise the 'families' of trees present throughout the world.

Not being from Padua, I don't know the details of how this area has evolved over time. But the historical elements present in the park speak of an old place. Some of the original buildings have been damaged. During one of my last visits, I saw that the tree that had grown horizontally had collapsed and was now surrounded by barriers to stop people getting too close. A real shame.

The bridge I discovered exists thanks to the river. The plants that thrive along its banks grow luxuriantly thanks to the humidity. Those seeking a little peace sit there, near the water, letting themselves be soothed by its flow. The waters also host pairs of ducks. This space is not only a refuge for humans, but for many other living creatures.