Thoughtful morning

A thoughtful morning of a lost day,
in the deep province: there is only one concern:
that it is warm in the hut, that there is something to eat,
that the magpie, foolishly, does not bring bad news.

The frozen countryside has fallen asleep in winter sleep.
Melancholy is my friend, and the blizzard outside the window.
You will not get bored with melancholy, you will only sigh with sadness.
There is no other way out, you go to paint a landscape.

Across the frosty blue, across the snowy carpet,
you meet the stern dawn with a keen gaze.
And it, playing with you, greets you playfully.
And blooms luxuriantly, in time, after.

The landscape is already painted, the canvas is stained with paint,
you go back to the hut, frozen, at full height.
Invigorated by the frost, the melancholy has disappeared, suddenly.
You also drag along your sketchbook, because you don’t have any faithful servants.