Am cusut-o cu gandul hoinarind pe dealuri... Peste covoarele de iarba grasa si peste florile pajistilor alpine. Betie a simturilor si liniste binecuvantata picurand in urechi. Ca un balsam...
Cu ea sub crestet, cerul ar fi mai tare. Si mai albastru.
Ma pregatesc insa de mare... De Dobrogea mea draga si de verde. De drumurile-i dulci, strajuite de plopi tremuranzi, in bataia vantului uscat. Oare ce povesti voi mai afla acum? Si ce povete, oare, imi va sopti iar la plecare?... Pe curand, mama Dobroge! Pe curand...
My thoughts were strolling over the hills while making it... Over the rich, abundant carpets of grass, over the flowers of the alpine pastures. Exhilaration of senses and blessed silence dripping in your ears. Like a balm...
With it under my head, the sky would be more vivid. And bluer.
But I'm preparing for the sea... For my dear Dobrogea and for green. For her mellow roads, guarded by the ancient aspens dancing in the dewless blowing of the wind. What stories will she tell me this time? And what teachings will she offer me when we'll say goodbye again?... Till soon, Mother Dobrogea! Till soon...
Tudor Gheorghe - Umbra plopilor
