Spring in the small village

Spring is starting to infuse life in the small village involving humans and nature

Arrived is now Spring,

The scents of flowers

scattered in the fields

Awaken feelings of sleeping children.

 

Here, the breeze that goes

Between flowering almonds.

 

There, weeping of poplars

Are spreading like white snow.

Far away, along the path,

White magnolias

Inebriate us with their essences.

 

Children around

Are preparing to weave

Tales born of their dreams

And entrusted to the wind

Like their joys.

 

In the shadow of the willows, I can hear

The babbling of rascal brooks,

While, at the crossroads of the country path,

I spot the magpies

Chasing each other in spiteful carousels.

 

Little girls seated on the steps of the Church

Comb their dolls while trying gestures

Learned from their mothers.

 

As a child, I would flee to gallop

Towards distant shores of hope,

Towards the sun reclining on hilly roundness.

 

The joy that awakens

From the lazy winter gorges

Soothes us all to sing heartfelt praises

In our throbbing hearts.

 

The enchantment overwhelms

The gaze of an infant

Who reposes at the slowness of the wind

While caressing his hair.

 

Lizards and reptiles

Overlook the boulders

Admiring undeterred sunny rocks.

 

Far away, messy clouds caress

Still and blue horizons

While the cliffs reverberate

With the squawk of opaline seagulls.

 

And when the heat of the yellow planet

Falls behind the last hills,

There appears the moon

To inspire gipsy guitars,

Love plots of

Young peasants,

And the fantasies and amusements

Of children in the courtyards

Of the yellow farmhouses.