This afternoon the gardens
of Earth have flourished;
past twilights were gray
as monotonous twilight of winter. 
This afternoon spring was born again: 
the veiled horizons discovered
dormant villages;
there were roses and violets in the blue of the firmament,
there was fabulous magic of colors and essences;
it was a nightfall of those
sweet springs in which my soul
seems to wander. 

In the nothing a something of deep transparencies floated
and the turns of the breezes, in a moment
drew themselves trembling;
a wave darkened the mysteries
of the evening... 
In the religious heavens
the stars of twilight half-opened;
and my soul was lost in the vague mist
of the last quiet and melancholy gardens... 
By the trees stuffed of blacknesses
there are terrors of some somnolent monsters,
of colossal snakes rolled
and gigantic scorpions;
and seems that of the depth of the paths
some mourning men come... 
The gardens are full of visions;
there are visions in my soul…
I feel cold, I am alone, I am sleepy... 
Memories pile up in my mind,
the softest memories
of the late evenings that gave me their colors,
their essences and their touch. 
So sweet are those afternoons of the land!,
(ah, the eves of heaven!) 


© 2008 Valerie Jones