Spring In the Small Village

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.