ANTONIO VIVALDI

In the silvery, trembling and frozen snow

By the sharp breath of the icy wind,

We run and hit our feet against the ground

By snacking teeth, because of the frost.

Finally we sit down, peaceful and happy, in front of the fire.

While, outside, the rain falls by the pour.

We walk slowly on the ice

For fear of falling.

Because by going too fast, we lose balance, and we fall to the ground.

We get back on our feet and, on the ice, we run quickly.

Before it breaks, and melts.

Behind the closed doors we hear Sirocco and Borée, and all the winds make war against each other.

This is winter, but it also brings its joys.

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