Something older from this year's spring from Parukářka Park.

Above, the blue; around, the succulent, undeveloped green of spring, small leaves and buds, so firm, delicate and yet strong, untrammeled like the multi-foliate hearts of lettuces; around, the brilliant light and between, the almost neon-fluorescing leaves scattered in veils and pompom-growths on trees; a pure choir of still-winter trees, bare silver branches adding a purity and seriousness, a lovely contrast to the filled with vibrant and good and warming life growth of those trees that had sped to meet the uncoming spring more eagerly or quickly than the rest.

I lay in the grass, my head comfortably against the concrete of some sort of low, oblongular ventilation shaft of what I assume, from what I have heard, is some kind of bunker under the park. From the shaft  one could smell a delightful musty smell, a deep, earthy nostrilant from the comfortable bowels of the shelter, but only if one sticks one's nose practically right up to the grille. Lying in the grass, your nozzles would be lullabied only by the rough friendliness of the concrete and spring, the cleanness of grass and earth and air, ba*breathed out by the park.

So, I was lying here, lookin' (kong) at the changeful light on the robust, lapidary, yet tender, spring-shoot leaves of a tree above me. Mostly the light filtered from above, from a hard, firm and blue sky.  A delicious green-yellow translucence through the leaves marked them out in their delicacy, outlining their veins and ridges, illuminating them with rich colour, almost flash-like. The sky and the leaves were both so sonorous and chromatic, so bright and more over of the same quality of light-bursting brightness that, where the edges of both met they sort of fused together, giving rise to something that caused in me the impression of a kind of dividing, raised ridge between sky-edge and leaf-edge, as when two plates of gold rise to form a holy-seeming suture of awe-inspiring, electric power, two iridescent metals touch and their kiss causes a brighter frill of gold, magical, electric, a purified, more-than-they hem or suture.

Twice I saw dogs rolling in the grass, something I had never seen them do before. They got down own their back and with legs comically, stiffly held above, they rolled for all they were worth, grinning with lopsided, floppy jowls. And when they had got up and punctiliously, with an air of preemptive embarrassment following their bosses, they must have found they couldn't bear the thought of not having just one more roll and down they went again, almost chortling in delight (as I imagine), rubbing their hard, whip like, backs in the grass and earth. Were they doing it out of the satisfaction of it being spring, of feeling earth and smelling grass?

As I was lying there, soaking up the wide blue flank of sky and those particularly bright, poignant leaves, I suddenly felt a ripple, a surge, the impression of a parting of waters, of the invasion of a lover's kiss, and into the bright blue sea of the sky there surged the straight white, foam-leashing arrow of a plane, high and small and ever so sharp, twinkling in the white, rarefied light. It was spectacular and beautiful. The impression given was totally physical; I could feel the parted foam, as if the blue goddess's foamy lips had been parted.

*ba is a prefix meaning that a metaphor is being used more metaphorically than usual, the park was not really breathing strictu sensu, but poetically, which is understood anyway I guess.