Trees Breathing

Sometimes, I hear

 trees breathe

or at least

it’s a wonderful idea,

how they fill

their green lungs,

so peacefully and quietly

with the sky and the wind and

with those strange, lovely creatures,

we call birds.

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Spring Morning /Pomladno jutro

Spring morning –

on every branch

a different song

Pomladno jutro –

na vsaki veji

drugačna pesem

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Weaving

Blackbird

weaving his song

into the nest

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Morda tišina

Pozdravljeni,

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Bolj tiho je tu okrog. Se mi zdi, da je tja do pet vrstic ravno dovolj za vse kar imam povedati. Tako ali tako je vsepovsod preveč hrupa, preveč glasov, preveč mnenj za katere vsakdo misli, da jih mora nujno izrazit. Se mi zdi, da večna tišina borovca velja vsaj toliko, mnogokrat pa celo več kot najbolj glasno izraženo mnenje tega ali onega med nami. Nerodno je le, ker je večina med nami zaradi stalnega hrupa že skoraj oglušela, tako da tistega, kar na ves glas ne tuli sploh ne slišimo več. In zato danes ena o tihi živalici, ki nas uči, da lahko jasno vidimo tudi v temi:

Ob treh ponoči, tudi on

pride ven

opazovat luno,

droben krtek

z žametno kožo

Naj bo vaš teden lep, na trenutke morda tih, predvsem pa brez strahu pred navidezno temo.

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Yearning/ Hrepenenje

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After this long winter

my fingers yearn

to touch

these crocus petals,

these soft green buds

——-

Po tej dolgi zimi

samo to -

dotakniti se

lističev žafrana,

zelenih brstičev

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Dried Roses

In the box

grandma’s dried roses, funny

how they too

remind me of

Spring

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New Green Windows

On the south-facing slopes, the spring is already peeking through its new green windows and squinting sleepily into the sun.

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The sun’s golden fingers are geting longer by the day. They now already reach all the branches and twigs tickling the catkins until they yawn and s t r e t c h  their bodies, bursting into laughter and scattering the golden dust, little hands catching it, gratefully, little faces smiling in delight.

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The air smells of wonderful new things: of snow melting, of cold bark and pine needles getting warm in the sun.

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Old pine trees and little firs all sing and sing even when there is no wind.

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The sleepless nights are long but in some way it’s a privilege to be able to enjoy the silent hours when nothing stirs and one can forget about the world beyond these hills and forests, which is getting louder and louder and flashing more and more wildly in the fluorescent colours of modern day madness.

May you find many rays of sunshine in the week to come.

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