there was no horsefly on a horse's back, no worm-hole in a plank, or fig-peel squashed on the sidewalk that Marcovaldo didn't remark and ponder over, discovering the changes of season, the yearnings of his heart, and the woes of his existence.
mandeulirik ez zen zaldi bizkar batean, pipi zulorik mahai batean, piku azal zapaldurik espaloian, Marcovaldok begietaratu eta zer pentsa emango ez zionik; halaxe sumatzen zituen berak urte sasoi barruko aldaketak, bere gogo-bihotzen gurariak, eta bere izatearen mixeriak.