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FARWEII to the Old YEAR
by Sota Korylo
At the feet of the mount Fury,
sunken into the shrub of snow
stands the mountain hut.

The trees growing around
are covered with the blanket
of snow.

 The rays of sun crack layers of ice.

Near the house - a long ski trail.
A steep slope winds up with
the serpent
of skiers, dressed in the
rainbow-colored stuff.

Bending my body back and forth,
like other skiers,
I slide down with
stupendous speed.

This trail, this speed -
traverses in my mind

like a desire to erase the
memory of earth,
that being there , with its
gravity - pulls me constantly down.

At the feet of mount Fury stands
the bent down hut.
In its front , I take off my skis.

At the feet of mount Fury stands
the bent down mountain hut.
In its front I take off my skis.

A huge kitchen in the house...
On  the top _ gleaming red -
the iron grate.
Sizzling stake. Nearby -
the goat cheese
and a pot of boiling tea.

The chimney brings the smell
of burning logs.
Through the window sneaks
in the scent
of hay and sheeps.

The dusk is creeping in.
The sun is setting down;
smelting the mountain
with the sky Leaning on my elbows,

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