A light breeze carries the scent of the earth. A circle of shade around a lamp. The sounds of their voices covered by forest. On the soil of dry leaves, a circle of monstrously distorted shapes, extending up to blend in with the surrounding darkness. As gray columns, the trunks of towering beech trees disappearing into thin opaque sky. The forest is no different from the temple where the deities of the Celtic Druids invoked wild, until ordered Roman legions have not made a clean sweep of the Druids and their sacred trees.
The light reflecting off layers of leaves, one on which branch to branch. Heaven on the sky, like a kaleidoscope of overlapping universes.
The trees are silent. The trees do not walk, do not think, do not speak. But the forest of their lives: animal walk, think, speak some, and everyone works for the trees. They spread seeds, pollen shed, and in return receive food, shelter, water and oxygen. The trees, in their silence seemingly idle, orchestrate the different layers of life, the network of ecological niches that swarms between roots and leaves. Individual trees that are home to hundreds, sometimes thousands of animal species, an entire zoo in a few meters, and non-cage without bars. It is an enlightened government, perhaps because not thinking, but under his rule that humans have learned rational thinking, what in a few millennia - in the moment - has led them to remove all the trees on the path of industrial civilization.
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