How could be beautiful the terrible?
How could the death claims the life?
When infinite mountain burns,
the oaks crackle, the birds runaway
and so many creatures perish cornered by infernal fire,
our hearts cry to see the black takes
what was the vibrant space of the green brightness.
However, that dense smoke that turns off trills,
darkens creeks and takes us the breath away;
that smoke that opaques our hope
It’s the visible shape of the spirits too;
that smoke with their random and ethereal shapes
It's the manifest expression of the forest soul too.
An apocaliptic world extends in our territory,
fire threatens with thirst at sons that haven’t known to care the mountain.
And lost in those dantesque landscapes
We find, nonetheless,
the presence of the mystery, the presence of the life.
