Firs

Šargan Osam, 8/8/8

The mountains that divide here from there are empty, no one to greet us but firs filing down a rock-strewn gully

The slopes are very steep Stones work free, bounce ricochet

The firs are all very erect carefully balanced

Bees move cautiously between flowers Only the butterfly lurches drunk on precipitous air

Higher up shorter trees cluster above the tunnels peep from below across the narrow track

In some places they crowd too close to the rails wild trees waving stumpy limbs

Firs cover the mountain ranked over the slopes Each subtending the azure attending at attention ready for the photograph

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