Walking

The translation of yesterday's poem, for those who don't read Spanish.

Here walking with me is a scent
Leaves of oaks in the heat of summer.
Here in the coastal mountains live the oaks, ancient and sage.
Here in the mountains live the redwoods, tall and strong, proud and red.
They live together, the redwoods from the high mountains and the oaks of the hills and valleys.
They live together, recalling an age almost past.
Before the cities, the cars and their strident sounds.
The trees are of the earth and the earth is of their roots.
The cliffs carry the trees and the trees keep the earth
Hoping that there will be one more age yet to live.