Trip 2 - Cumpene

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It was late summer. It hadn't rained for two months. The meadow grass, once raw green, had turned yellow. Only the giant sparrow on the edge of the forest still stood tall. The leaves of the beech trees in the valley were drying and beginning to fall. He couldn't remember such a terrible drought.

But one day, around noon, the sky darkened. Cohorts of purple clouds were overhead, hiding the sunlight. The storm came. Lightning began to streak overhead. St. Elijah started his chariot through the sky. The rumble of thunder rolled in long echoes through the valleys. A heavy downpour of rain fell on the mountain. Gusts of wind wailed through the branches of the trees. A terrific thunderbolt struck a fir tree on the neighboring coast. A huge blaze went up. The raging fire greedily engulfed tree after tree, seemingly defying the rain that continued to fall. Despite the cool sprinkles, he could already feel the sting of fire. The gale was also feeding the smoldering embers, carrying the sparks over the forest. Could this be the end?
It's been a few hours. Many, few? He lost track of them. Suddenly, as it started, the storm stopped. The clouds hurried away, taking the wind with them. The sun was escaping into the sunset. The fire that had been raging in the forest on the neighboring coast stopped. It was stopped by the stream in the valley that had swollen, fed by the rain that had run down the mountain slopes. He breathed a sigh of relief.
On the far side, his cousin, the knot pine, was happy. At last, its offspring, the cones that had rolled for many years among the stones, opened in the warmth of the fire, throwing out their seeds. In a short time the young pines would send up their first branches, their first boughs, over the scorch-blackened earth.
Years have passed. The good old man, with the white beard, had just emptied his sack at the houses of the good children. The little children were happily asleep.
The full moon spread its silvery mantle over the stillness of the night. The snow glistened, as if fueled by its own light. Not even a whisper of wind disturbed the frozen silence of midnight.
But suddenly, the stillness of nature was shattered by a thump. From the pestle in the distance, a streak of manure crumbled. Avalanche! The velvety snow, born of the light as a breeze, was transformed into a beast that grew and gathered speed. Nothing stood in its way. Not even the thickness of the old thicket. The old and young firs crumbled like splinters beneath the white boom. And suddenly, silence. The rushing torrent stopped in the valley. As daylight dawn broke, a wide strip appeared on the mountainside. The fallen firs lay strewn about as if felled by a giant's fury.
Whew! He missed this time too.
Spring. The zest for life was rekindling all around. The snowdrops were merrily lifting their little bells amid the patches of snow eaten by the north wind.
With no warning, the bowels of the Earth began to churn. A huge cliff broke away from the top. It tumbled faster and faster, snapping like thorns the firs in its path. Earthquake. He headed toward it, making a path through the thicket. He retreated into himself so as not to feel the end. He felt his branches violently pushed aside. He heard a terrifying crack, then the thunder rumbled. The forest creatures slowly quieted.

When he came to, the slender tree that had sheltered him since he was a one-legged boy was lying slumped on the ground. Farewell, old dear. For as long as anyone knew, and the elders said the same, there had never been such an earthquake on a mountain top. Down in the valley, it must have been the roar of the world.
And again he escaped with his life. Somebody up there must love him.

 The poster