Poplar leaves

I was always fascinated by poplar leaves. By their rustle and the way they shudder in the torrid breeze of the summer, on the rural roadsides of Buzau county.

There's this half a mile of road between the villages of Stalpu and Costesti that always makes me stop for a few moments and sink into a sea of nostalgia. Poplars on both sides of the road, soft rustle sound and a deep sensation of tranquility.

I remember these poplars were there when I was just a small boy, about to discover the wonders of life. They've been there every time I passed by ... the same soft rustle sound, the same sensation of tranquility. They're still there now, after so many years and they'll probably be in the same wonderland (my Fortress of Solitude) long after I'll be gone.

I tried so many times to imagine what'd be the first thing I'd wanna do after I'll cross into the world of eternal tranquility. Now I know: I'd go see my poplars and I'd listen to the rustle of their leaves...