Šargan Osam, 8/8/8
The mountains that divide here from there are empty, no one to greet us but firs filing down a rock-strewn gully
The slopes are very steep Stones work free, bounce ricochet
The firs are all very erect carefully balanced
Bees move cautiously between flowers Only the butterfly lurches drunk on precipitous air
Higher up shorter trees cluster above the tunnels peep from below across the narrow track
In some places they crowd too close to the rails wild trees waving stumpy limbs
Firs cover the mountain ranked over the slopes Each subtending the azure attending at attention ready for the photograph