NATURE

The forest rustles... A frantic dance of wind in leaves frozen with terror,

in needle fluff that brutally irritates the magical three-dimensionality of nature. This rustle, grind, delicate fluttering against the backdrop of violent roars

and the cold, piercing murmurs of an angry wind.

It's like a ritual rite intended to dismantle, impoverish, and dispel a certain whole, previously a peaceful oasis of harmonic coincidence. Coexisting, small wonders of nature lower their joyful heads, bow, wither, and melt before the face of mighty nonexistence. They raise mournful, sometimes lamenting cries; their almost funeral songs are thrown with force into blissful unconsciousness, enveloping every inch of the world they encounter like a hypnotic breath.

They have learned to live in the moment. They don't count the days or hours, they don't drown in sadness with the coming of darkness, and they don't naively await the birth of another dawn. Thanks to this, they exist, exist continuously, and every moment of this existence is filled with astonishing optimism. And even now—in such a fear-scarring moment—their hearts brim with joy and gratitude for this powerlessness and childlike ignorance of the next second. For these life experiences, for not being left in a trance of monotony and constant immobility, for enlivening

and nourishing them with a wild thrill of chaotic delight. They feel this and understand it. They know the eternal secret of existence. They proudly enter its vortex—unprepared, without advisors—alone, relying only on themselves, though more so on fate.

They have propitiated the madness of nature. They have enriched themselves with a beautiful bouquet of yet unexperienced moments, drenched in the condensing, misty face of the judge—the wind. He is no longer angry, for he has seen the loyalty of his subjects. He no longer hurls the sharp bolts of his wild gaze at them. He no longer torments them with the piercing breath of terror. He has brightened his stern countenance, dispelled the clouds of distrust, and rewards them with a gentle, radiant smile.

The sun shines again, the birds sing to the rhythm of new cricket compositions, and the forest has finished its boisterous dance and gone for a walk, wrapped in a gentle breeze.