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The green brings me back to my childhood.
The smell of cut grass in June
Meant the ‘white nights season’,
When my father would run behind me,
While I’m on my bike,
and then — freedom…
To breathe warm air,
To hug my mother under the blanket
Filled with stars.
And then, look! Here it is –
A green morning full of hope!
It was always green as hope.
It was that way from the beginning of the world,
But it concealed itself for a long time,
Laid hidden in the north,
Where tzars were,
And permitted itself to be found
When spring revealed itself.
It travelled in a closed carriage,
From The Volga river,
To the Winter Palace,
Through the Grand Place in Brussels,
To settle in Koksijde…
Look, here it is – the prophetic green stone,
Crystal emerald heart.
There is thick olive green mist
That fills the flat Flemish valley,
Where a strange corridor pops up:
Lady bugs step down into it
And meet four palms,
Who manage to put them back on the right path
Via hand signals…