Gone is the storm:
I can hear the birds again, and the hen
Returning to the road,
Repeating her song. Look how the blue sky
Breaks through in the west, over the mountain;
Clearing the countryside,
In the valley the river reappears.
Every heart is happy, everywhere
One hears the sound of the people
Returning to work.
The craftsman gazes at the humid sky,
With his work in hand, singing,
On his doorstep; out runs
A woman to fill her bucket
With fresh rain water;
The huckster renews
From street to street
His daily cry.
Look the sun is out, look it’s smiling
On the hills and homes. Balconies are being opened,
Terraces and porches are being opened by families:
And from the highway, you can hear in the distance
The sound of harness bells: as the squeaky traveler’s carriage
Resumes its journey.