We now live near the peak of Mount Alcino, “Montalcino Way;”
more like a hill than a true mountain.
Our backyard points to the West,
tiny, intimate, rising in terraces;
wishing to embrace the rocks, reddish, majestic;
which threaten to descend and smash the house.
And beyond is the altar of the woods,
crowned with pines, old, wise, tall, caressing the clouds.
To contemplate the horizon at Mount Alcino.
What lies beyond?
A farm, unknown neighbors.
The backyard does not lead anywhere,
but as the Cosmic Sage says,
since it does not lead anywhere,
then it leads everywhere.
And suddenly the sun sets,
a potpourri of colors invades the horizon;
from gray to pink, then intense red, violet, purple;
contrasting the slender tree trunks,
which now appear black.
The spectacle vanishes within two minutes;
a mystical present from the Universal Intelligence,
who returned my vision, which I almost lost in the quarrel.
Those who have the gift of sight,
must contemplate in grace the Garden of Eden.
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Sergio E. Serrano - Amazon Author's Page
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lovely words, lovely sentiment, lovely graphic
never stop writing
m