THE WALTZ OF THE BIRCH LEAVES

        The hour of mild light of the fall when the leaves are ready to enter the winter’s sleep... her eyes… his eyes… and a simple love story beginning beneath the waltz of the birch leaf scattering yellow-green pieces in the dishevelled hair… and then the long winter, as sad as the distance between them… and long letters sighing like the falling leaves… a new springtime with a new light… her cheek tenderly touching the bark of the birch tree… and the summer as hot as the love filling with dew the leaf-like eyes… and then, closing the seasons’ circle, again the fall with the sign of departures… the way beginning beneath the birch tree and ending at the edge of a remote sea… the dust of the long way, now on the soles of her feet…and at the end of the way, the same eyes like one year ago beneath the birch-tree, now cold and distant.. no voice to call a name… and no hand to reach out trying to stop the misty outline going away on the beach, like a strange statue of the loneliness… only the birch leaf waltz in the night, healing the wound of the barefeet traces washed away by the sea… Good night.

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