The sky here has an undecided clearness.
The careful migration of my woolen flock
now a slow meander through the shifting seasons.
It is difficult to tell
what it is like where you are.
You seem at peace with the atmosphere.
But then
you always were a friend of the winter.
I haven taken to photographing trees
I do not show my pictures to anybody.
Other people take your picture now.
I do not know their names
and I do not think to ask.
The sky has an undecided clearness
you smile at distant strangers
and in my hidden gallery
a secret forest silently grows.
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