Apples are ripe and wine is being made.
I see something in the distace,
A car perhaps.
The wind starts to blow in my hair,
I carry a book in my hand.
The tall grass tickles my legs
And I see it.
The wind blowing very little
But makes the leaves dance in the air.
I walk around it, admiring the beauty.
Opening the book, a leaf falls.
Pink and white joyfully brightens the page.
I listen to the cherry blossom tree
Whispering its secrets to me.