A Village Life

Solitude

It’s very dark today; through the rain, the mountain isn’t visible. The only sound is rain, driving life underground. And with the rain, cold comes. There will be no moon tonight, no stars.

The wind rose at night; all morning it lashed against the wheat— at noon it ended. But the storm went on, soaking the dry fields, then flooding them—

The earth has vanished. There’s nothing to see, only the rain gleaming against the dark windows. This is the resting place, where nothing moves—

Now we return to what we were, animals living in darkness without language or vision—

Nothing proves I’m alive. There is only the rain, the rain is endless.

Primavera

Spring comes quickly: overnight the plum tree blossoms, the warm air fills with bird calls.

In the plowed dirt, someone has drawn a picture of the sun with rays coming out all around but because the background is dirt, the sun is black. There is no signature.

Alas, very soon everything will disappear: the bird calls, the delicate blossoms. In the end, even the earth itself will follow the artist’s name into oblivion.

Nevertheless, the artist intends a mood of celebration.

How beautiful the blossoms are—emblems of the resilience of life. The birds approach eagerly.

Burning Leaves

The fire burns up into the clear sky, eager and furious, like an animal trying to get free, to run wild as nature intended—

When it burns like this, leaves aren’t enough—it’s acquisitive, rapacious,

refusing to be contained, to accept limits—

There’s a pile of stones around it. Past the stones, the earth’s raked clean, bare—

Finally the leaves are gone, the fuel’s gone, the last flames burn upwards and sidewards—

Concentric rings of stones and gray earth circle a few sparks; the farmer stomps on these with his boots.

It’s impossible to believe this will work— not with a fire like this, those last sparks still resisting, unfinished, believing they will get everything in the end

since it is obvious they are not defeated, merely dormant or resting, though no one knows whether they represent life or death.