Again this summer
on the same path cramped into dwarf Mediterranean trees
the lady with the dogs.*
She wore the same scowl face,
the same hairstyle,
and I guess she recognized me, too.
Every early morning, apparently,
she drives all her three dogs,
one of them huge, the other two white,
in her little (white) clio
which she parks in front of the ramp,
then she walks the Waves' trail
back and forth,
(but always counterwise my direction).
Afterwards, I guess,
she must go back to home or work.
“I’ve grown to enjoy my time as a tree planter,”
“However, tree planting
is not the main and only focus
of my life,”**
and continues her journey
with the same pace,
the biggest (black) dog,
the size of an ordinary calf,
lagging just a bit behind
occasionally stumbling against those hoarse tree trunks.
* An association with Chekhov at this point is almost appropriate.
** Vir uporabljenega dobesednega govora je E. K., 14. 6. 2022 (private communication).
Napisal/a: Mirjam Dular
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