The beginning of spring somehow always makes me want to read poetry…
THE CHESTNUT-TREE BURSTS INTO FLOWERS
To hell with elevated art
And all long idle gloomy hours
When in the springtime in the yard
The chestnut-tree bursts into flowers.
It makes the fiery rain start pouring
And the south winds awake and blow.
It blossoms so that without warning
Our hearts like streams would overflow,
That books would fly away from tables,
That nights would stifle with their scent,
That we’d be threatened with such ailments
Which doctors still fail to prevent,
That birds would sing themselves to croaking,
That everything would burn and foam,
That mothers would at nights be weeping
Over their daughters not at home…
When chestnut-trees light silent candles
Those huge white blossoms with pink spots,
You come back home completely blinded
And with your pen make messy blots.
by Henrikas Radauskas
And if you can hear Antonio Vivaldi’s Spring in your head when looking at these pictures, then you know just how I feel.