10 December 2011
You will recall that whimsical gorge
where pulsating aromas climbed up,
an occasional bird cloaked in water
and slowness: its winter feathers.
You will recall those gifts from the earth;
irascible scents, earth made of gold,
weeds in the thicket and mad roots,
sorcerous sword-like thorns.
You will recall the bough you brought,
a bough of shadows and silent water,
a bough like a foam-covered stone.
That time was like never, and like always.
We go there, where nothing waits
and we find everything it is waiting for.
- Pablo Neruda