De stilte van het land

the distant hills
make slow arches on the horizon
and the copper-yellow wheat
glistens in the sun
along the open fields
through the eternal green of the meadows
the old cart path makes its way
through the soft ground
and down in the valley
between the green leaves of the oaks
lies the small village hidden
as in an old tale
whitewashed facades
sweet scents of jasmine
as if nothing had ever changed
and time had stood still

the village street lies deserted
in the shadow of the houses
only a slow cyclist
makes scratches in the gravel
through the open windows
comes the smell of the stoves
the whisper of the women
or the crying of a child
and over the brown fields
draw slowly the broad horses
along the flanks of the hills
folding in the warm sand
the farmers' bodies bend
over the fresh earth
as if the great master Breughel
had planted them there

And high above all this
sounds a soft melody
as a sign from the distant shore
the silence of the land

here one lives with simplicity
but yet like small gods
on the rhythm of the seasons
a peaceful existence
with rain sun and wind
as faithful allies
they work the earth
as they have done for centuries
as if the boundaries between present
and past have shifted
as if nothing had ever changed
and time had stood still

For high above all this
sounds a soft melody
as a sign from the distant shore
the silence of the land
the silence of the land