Oaks,and other trees... Time flys and hours seem so even. I catch sights of a tree on a random path: an oak, a willow, one that I don't know yet. Yes, I know, says the glow worm, it is a plumtree rootstock full of woonder. Whatever it is, I only mind that we chose one another, me as the visitor of one eve, it as the prince of the night. Then, from this encounter, something kicks off, triggering our getting closer and closer, a quiteness of a sharing surounded by loud voices: the wind in the branches, the birdsongs, the peaceful breath of a rogue mamal. And my footsteps in the wet grass. Who is watchingus? Who can see me? Nothing is set nor decisive. The oak changed it own ode, the color of the night has swinged. Metamorphosis of time: yesterday, I used to climb the trees; now,

I worship at a distance their inexhaustible heart. sn