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.??