The fifth season

THE FIFTH SEASON

In the stumps of the yard,

The broken edges of axes have left,

Like a guestbook,

Endless signatures and lines,

Marks.

The heavy doors of the towers

Cast a breeze,

Like sherbet for brides

When they step over the threshold

For the first time.

In the guest room,

Like a whirlpool,

Magic draws you in.

Everywhere the air embraces,

The springs kiss hands,

Trees open eyes of joy,

Birds scatter clouds and darkness,

Avalanches rest,

Paths widen into trails,

Slopes lend a hand,

Peaks bow before the guest.

The four seasons

Change like dancers in a beautiful dance,

But hospitality is a season

That never changes.