On The Way Of The Months (fragment)

Between being a poet or simply living, there is beautiful possibility, and that is, to live poetically. This is what I try to do since I decided not to sojourn permanently in one place and to become a wayfarer […] Thus, I set off once more, and find myself again hiking the footways that lead to my woods. Holy, beloved evergreen and oak groves!, sheer labyrinth where my dreams wound through! July, August, even today, lumbering gods knock, as always, tall, immortal trees and I listen, always with wonder, to the purity of the blows from invisible axes. In between blows, I hear only the untamed rustling of silence while I walk under the green fire branches. […] Along the mass of roots that descends from the crag onto the pool's mouth, summer, gradually, lets itself down. Lianas, forest of delight, my quietude! […]

With these and other thoughts, days go by very quickly and, here it is, suddenly the copper wind of autumn trembles over the mountains. The shadows and cobwebs in the woods call us now with a more distinct voice. The yellow leaves wave or carpet already the wet footpaths, not far from streams hidden beneath the ravines. Chestnut and acorn are within reach, like small treasures, like talismans, like plant embers.

(versió de Salvador Pila)