Napolju pada kisha ali ja u to ne verujem

The Vrbas in a melted teal frenzy swirled heavily creating white-capped eddys around tree trunk on flooded banks. The touched trees weeped new leaves of spring in reply. The delicate yellow-green crescents unfurled a contrast that suited the deep magenta of the upturned magnolia blossoms on the nearby street. From my solitary vantage point on a 16th century castle ruin, I could easily see that spring had arrived in Banja Luka as softly as the rain. It was hard to hold back the tears being alone with my thoughts in the cold drizzle of Bosnia. In an effort to manage my overwhelming feelings that spanned the range of serene liberty to heartbreak, I read and reread the Serbian saying on the back of the map. "It is raining outside, but I do not believe that it is."