05.06.22
Yellow, there is all kinds of yellow
The hills are full of sunny plants,
Enchanting flowers they are
Bony, beautiful and pretty.
The smell my child
How can I describe its flavor?
Intoxicating, riveting, mysterious,
It comes from my grandparents ’souls
Born in old farms on the prettiest valleys,
Born in the brooms, the yellow scents,
This spirit, this way of life, the quiet
It flows in my blood like a disease that is welcomed.
But the yellow will decay and disappear,
I’m on the verge of my memories.
And I want to wait. Here.
Wait for next year. Wait for spring.
Wait for the brooms to come back.
Back on the hill. Back in the world.
And back in my heart.













