The poet’s chronotope is thronged with trees and forests, and here snow slips softly from their shapely branches.
I was in the wild garden few days ago,
Of conifers where pillars of pine,
And chestnut nurtured the foliage beneath.
How quite that garden was,
Where no breeze bothered the Cornelian cherry!
In a glade, you stood like a modest god.
With your soaring trunk and a giant canopy
It appeared as if you were some
Ancient brethren of mountains
And in your silent kingdom,
Even sighing was an intrusion.
The tender branches of your canopy,
Exhibited an unsurpassable symmetry
A heard of you and your species,
Gazed towards heaven in orderliness
As if ready for a march
With their mauds and bagpipes.
With furry leaves, you render care to the forest
And sieve nourishing aortal light,
For golden rods and anemones
In winters and strong winds,
You stand silently and gallantly as snow
Slips softly from your shapely branches.
The forest has become darker,
And nuzzle her wildlings after the rain,
Nurturing them with periodic sunlight.
The soft faces of flowers and their green shoulders,
Are too wet for the pollinators
Every cumulus is rudderless now.
As the wind swells again,
In heaviness, they seem like coagulated form
Of sea or a river that left a distant glacier,
To begin his or her journey long ago.
Afresh from a heavy shower,
Trees flutter their leafy hair,
And their boughs heavy with rain water.
The cool wind’s undulating breath of curiosity,
Speaks about her carefree gait.
Come forth in the morning after heavy rain,
The rain-fresh periwinkles and magnolias,
Greet you with their joyful faces!
And the grass’s determination to outgrow
Other foliage has become more resolute.