The scene is detailed, with odours, colours and textures approaching you, nearing your distant, modern, suddenly still world. The descriptions are sensual, but their reach is deeper than the senses. They move slowly before your eyes, a choreography unfolding, subtlety creating an opening amongst the crowded, ageless, romantic picture. Do they aim to show you meaning?
The women busy around daily chores, the children oscillate between tiny joys and cracks of growing sadnesses, the trees have seen many men walk, some slowly, heavily, some painfully, some hardy and fast, some filled with fear, hope, disgust or angst. They go about, not hiding nor showing themselves - they go about because that's what there is to do. Yet all these details are chosen, you think, reader, all these humble, seemingly unimportant details were chosen for you, and together they point at something. Or so you believe. You're the one that has to find the meaning. You are the creator of the poem.