The forest is one, yet all
There are many of them but at the same time, it is one and the same.
Getting lost in the thick forest is not all joy, but it is also the anguish of wanting to scape from it.
The forest embodies the despicable feeling of paradox, glare and discomfort.
It is an encounter and a failed encounter as well.
A silence void of silence.
A perfect coexistence that refers me back to childhood and unintentionally puts me in an action without moving.
Climbing up the trees, burning the dry leaves, the eucalyptus leaves in the boiling water that would perfume the house, picking up the fallen branches.
A sensorial movement, without words, a depth of emotion.
The forest, so intense, so thick and so fragile.
Forests show the passage of time in their branches: complex, inflexible, wrinkled, strong, young, twisted by the wind, branches embracing and stretching out, getting closer, fearless, to a natural inevitable world, where, with eyes closed, I can now listen to the laughter, tears, creaking steps, breathing, the pace of childhood unfolding at the heart’s pace.
I always get back to the forest and walk it through, without haste, with the promise of finding something different, full of noise and images that resound without dazing.
Walking through the forest always inspires me to move on.
Standing from different places, everything looks new and invites me to explore the unknown, not to get to know it but to love it.