Beautiful Karpatu

Empty, cold, or full and beautiful? There, forever, embodying the souls of those who are not anymore, to be embedded into the souls of those who will be.  My first mountains, my mountains, always to be, always to stay, even when I leave, dissolve, and disappear without a trace.  Beautiful Karpatu.  Every tree there, every rock, every bend in the road has its own memory, but also mine, my mother's, my grandmother's, their grandmother's.  First mountains, the most beautiful?  Full of meaning, full of unbelievable lightness and sadness of being.  Although far, your image stays with me, in all seasons, in all colors, in all gloomy details of memories to fade, of future not to be.

The song my mother used to sing so long ago, in another life, in an incredible voice of hers I could never dream to master, those happy days, rare memories of happy days not to last.  Nostalgia rarely destroys my pragmatism and love of life anywhere on this beautiful and endless planet of ours.  Only Karpatu make me tick, sometimes, stop, remember, wonder "what if", and shed a tear or two when listening to Gutsulka Ksenia in repeat mode.  No "what ifs" anymore, fewer and fewer reasons to come back - although not that many to go forward either.  Ja tobi na trembiti, lush odnij v tsilim sviti, rozkajy pro lybov...