Bent and twisted in time and space, the sky absolutely clear –
thoughts enthusiastically stir in anticipation of some form of dialogue.
It is with muted breath that it waits for some kind of response –
something to elucidate its art, to make a thing out of its translation.
. . . . .
The oaks and the pines, and their brethren of the wood, have seen so many suns rise and set, so many seasons come and go, and so many generations pass into silence, that we may well wonder what "the story of the trees" would be to us if they had tongues to tell it, or we ears fine enough to understand.
– Anonymous
What did the tree learn from the earth
to be able to talk with the sky?
– Pablo Neruda
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