From a 1970s Polish nature journal.
[warning: google translations…yet they can be poetic in their own way]
“Are spruce, children,
snow holy night,
clearer from the candles.
Beauty is Poland’s winter.
-Mieczyslaw Jastrun, Tale of Our Land (fragment)”
“the mountain mist crawled. Pregnant clouds rain down […] August.
Gray fumes cling to steep slopes. Light clouds floated
airily to the winds, which smoked the white clouds of steam as the tops of volcanoes …
And somewhere behind the mist reverberating from afar – pathetic (?) deer roar and hum eagerly advances in the gulf stream.
Fearless was grazing, releasing the occasional thick grunts, not a challenge to
fight the unworthy, but rather a warning to them, and there resides the Lord of the forest, crowned
in a wonderful wreath of twenty branches…
-Julian Ejsmond, In the forest”