Ya llegaron los cuervos. Se lanzan en picada sobre los tendidos eléctricos y allí se quedan un rato, mirando el paisaje helado de mi calle.
Mientras camino y veo el cielo altísimo y limpio, nada se mueve en la desolación del invierno.
La tierra ha girado otra vez y completa su ciclo interminable. Ahora sol, ahora noche.
Nos toca ver el tiempo del recogimiento, la tregua. Muchos pequeños animales morirán con la estación de las heladas. Otros, los que tengan alas, se irán lejos.
Nosotros hemos reunido algunas ramas secas para calentar una fogata. Como acostumbramos hacer desde hace siglos, nos sentaremos en círculo y esperaremos. Cantaremos una canción que hable de lo hermosa que es la vida.
Realmente lo es. El fuego aviva el recuerdo y nos ayuda a imaginar que vendrá el sol otra vez y que mientras tanto debemos alimentar nuestra esperanza, tejer coloridas cobijas, hacer nudos de buenos augurios entrelazados, crear sueños fantásticos, ahora luz, ahora oscuridad.
Recuerdas el invierno anterior? Subimos al puente y desde allí vimos el río congelado. Nada podía ser más sublime ni más conmovedor que la vida detenida en apariencia.
Ven, pon en esta cazuela las nueces que encontraste al pie del árbol. Yo añadiré miel y avena, olorosas especias que guardé a la sombra durante el verano. Celebraremos la espera como lo hemos hecho desde siempre, desde que éramos otros, cobijados por la bendición de estar vivos.
Primera versión en inglés. Por Rina Ferrarelli
The crows are here, they plunge bad-tempered on the electric wires and stay for a spell, staring at my street´s frozen landscape.
While I walk and look at the sky so high and clean, nothing moves in the desolation of winter.
The earth has turned again, completing its interminable cycle. Now sun, now night. It´s up to us to see the time of the harvest, the truce. Many small animals will die in the season of frost, others, those have wings, will go far away.
We have gathered a few dry branches to get a bonfire going. And as we have done for centuries, we´ll sit in a circle and wait. We´ll sing a song that says how beautiful life is.
It truly is. The fire enlivens the memory and helps us imagine that the sun will return again and that in the meantime we need to feed our hopes, weave colorful blankets, make interlaced knots of good wishes, create fantastic dreams, now light, now dark.
Do you remember last winter? We went up to the bridge and from there we saw the river iced cover. Nothing can be more sublime nor more moving than life apparently frozen.
Come, put join this pan the walnuts that you found at the foot of the tree. I will add honey and oats, fragrant kinds that I keep in the shade during summer. We´ll celebrate the civil as we have done since always, since we were others, protected by the blessing of being alive.
Segunda versión en inglés. Por Javier Domínguez
The ravens have arrived, plunged on the electrics lines, and there they stay for a while, looking at the frozen landscape of my street.
As I walk and see the sky very high and clean, nothing moves in the desolation of winter.
The earth has spun again and completes its endless cycle. Now sun, now night. We have to see the time of reflection, the truce. Many small animals will die with the frost season. Others, those with wings, will go far.
We have gathered some dry branches to heat a campfire. As we have been accustomed to do for centuries, we will sit in a circle and wait. We will sing a song that speaks about how beautiful life is.
It really is. Fire enlivens the memory and helps us to imagine that the sun will come again and in the meantime we must feed our hope, weave colorful blankets, make knots of intertwined food omens, create fantastics dreams, now light, now darkness.
Do you remember last winter? We climbed the bridge and from there we saw the frozen river. Nothing could be more sublime or more poignant than life apparently stopped.
Come, punt in the pot the nuts you found at the foot of the tree. I will add honey and oats, fragrant spices that I keep in the shade during the summer. We will celebrate the waiting as we have always done since we were others, sheltered by the blessing of being alive.
Tercera versión en inglés. Por Mariana Centeno
The crows have arrived. They dive into the overhead wires and stay there for a while, staring of the frozen landscape that is my street.
As I walk down, I see the clear sky up high, nothing moves in this winter desolation.
Earth was turned once again and completes its endless cycle. Sun and then nighttime. We get to witness this time of retreat, the truce. Many small animals will perish during the coldest season. Others, the ones with wings, will fly far away.
We have gathered some dry branches and sticks to build a fire. We gather in a circle and wait, like we´ve been doing for centuries. We'll sing a song that talks about how beautiful life is.
It really is beautiful. The fire lights up the memory and it helps us imagine the sun coming back. In the meantime, we have to nourish our hope, we have to weave colorful blankets, intertwine good fortune knots, create fantastics dreams, some with light, some with darkness.
Do you remember the last winter? We went to the bridge and stared at the frozen river below.
Nothing could be more sublime, more moving than a living thing that's stagnant in appearance.
Come ant trow in the pot the nuts you found under the tree. I'll add some honey and oatmeal, fragrant spices that I keep in the shade during the summer. We will celebrate the wait, like we have always done, since we were others, sheltered under the blessing of being alive.
