Love in the Mountains
“Hush. On the edge of the woods I do not hear words which you call human; but I hear words which are newer, spoken by droplets and leaves far away.
Listen. Rain falls from scattered clouds. Dancing among the pine trees, scaly and bristling, rain falls on the myrtles, Divine, rain falls on our faces, Sylvan, rain falls on our hands, Naked.
We are immersed in the spirit of the woodland, Alive with arboreal life; The daughter of the trees, you seem to emerge from bark. And with us all life is fresh. Fragrant. Renewed”. The Rain in The Pinewood, La pioggia nel pineto.
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