Sun breaks through the clouds;
The wind echoes in my ears.
Above a hawk glides.

The sun disappears;
A chilly grayness descends.
The loud stream rushes.

Rustle of the wind;
Fir trees bend and sway gently.
Distant stream rushes.

The wind is rushing;
The lazy brook winds slowly;
The crows keep calling

Small cross in the woods;
It stands on a pile of stones.
What lies beneath it?

The sun hides again;
On the streams are flat mirrors;
Snow patches are dim.

Three birds on a branch;
They sit still against the sky.
Then poof! Off they fly.

Gray clouds migrating;
They leave behind a blue sky.
Hawk sails on the wind.