On the south-facing slopes, the spring is already peeking through its new green windows and squinting sleepily into the sun.
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.
The air smells of wonderful new things: of snow melting, of cold bark and pine needles getting warm in the sun.
Old pine trees and little firs all sing and sing even when there is no wind.
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.