—A little lamb ruminating, stretched out beside its mother, its little eyes half-closed.
—A puppy, who seems to be dead-asleep, beginning to growl while it dreams.
—The first whinny of a little foal.
—A black cat, curled up in the sun, purring at her white kitten nursing.
—Hatched three days ago, a chick scratching the ground, pulling a little worm out of its hole; running away with it, his siblings after him, hurrying to steal his prey from him.
—In a grey sky, the pliant branch of a blackish fir-tree balancing a crow.
—At the time of nesting, on the cartpath two warblers: the male, his feathers fluffed out, dancing and making gestures at his female.
—A dog asleep on its master’s jacket on top of the furrow.
—A squirrel gnawing a pine-cone, so comical, seated on a branch. All around you the smell of thyme.
—During a windy day, the efforts of a magpie, with a twig in her beak. She flies sideways, one might say. She has trouble reaching her nest in the highest branch of the black-elm.
—A little foal taking a piece of sugar from the open palm of a child.
—A pullet singing with pride and astonishment at her first egg.
—The big wheel of a mill churning water, that turns to foam as white as wheat flour.
—The dripping of a creek that cannot be seen for the hemlock.
—The music of a ruddy chestnut falling from its stem across the leaves, each leaf giving its own light note.
—Medlars ripening, like brown roses, in a thicket half stripped, its last leaves so red as if the sun had set in front of the tree.
—A large spider crawling on the white wall one night when you are lost in your thoughts. You are not at all superstitious, but a spark of hope suddenly arises inside of you.
—A wren singing gaily, its tail stiff on the curved edge of the apple-press.
April 1965.
Translated by Lenora Timm
