The forest had its own, captivating silence...

On a warm morning I stand welcoming the bitter-green start of the day. The forest is wet and rich, it emanates the smell of aquatic soil mixed with tints of porcini, even truffle. As I go deeper in, I first feel and then see an ancient tree with a suave, perfect, bark. Its powerful roots shape a mosaic of consciousness. A brook gurgles playfully as it caresses the tree and then meanders across rapids, stones, sand, twigs and fallen leaves. The stream knows its own and never strays off the path that irreversibly leads it to the world ocean.

As I have walked beyond the forest, the sunlight filling the edge of the greenery forces my hand to cover the eyes. I hesitate and slowly remove the block, and soon after my eyes start to decry the first shapes, I see the birds that sing the songs of love above a colourful meadow guarded by birches, oaks, and spruces. I take a seat on the breathing earth covered in clover heated by the sun. I can smell this green air that reminds me of honey and milk, it softly sends me to the reverie of my own creation. The fragrance is my invisible follower. Grenouille is his name.


...the main rule of this world is – do not get trapped in your illusions.