The sun decides to shower with light,
and to delicately touch with love
the paleness of the birch trees.

Little spots of light
sneaking through the foliage,
like little skylights
allowing the sun’s stroke.

My eyes try to catch
and quickly put together,
the puzzle of light and shadow.
But it’s already too late
for my my eyes won’t ever see again  
the same mosaic in the same mystic disorder
chosen by the sun,
adorned by the dance of the forest.