In this winter I watch from the
Far fields: the shouting rumble of
Grey cranes in the fallow, and
Blackbirds singing in the
Pine thicket. It is the Sabbath day;
I go to the marshes, and drink from
The fragrance of my childhood . . .
Forgotten daffodils. Children are
Collecting mushrooms: oh, the
Eely skullcap of a fresh
Champignon; oh, the sand grains of
Mushrooms in the sizzling pot!
My head suddenly feels encircled
by onion steam, and this familiar
aroma blocks me. Abruptly I stop.
I surrender to my memories. And I
Say to myself: right now, this morning,
My reprieve is still valid.
translated from Hebrew by the author and Ward Kelley