I stand under the tremulous guard of an oak and I can hear the world in whispers that speak of the pain of trees. It is not conscious vocalising to the ears, but somewhere within stirs the memory of a long forgotten consensual language. It sweeps down from the sky in the gentle rain or on the soft blowing winds and I know that withal I am one among many that bring the world to hope once again in a small way. I deem it not enough to sustain the pain the world feels for the indignity man has brought. We are the dominating species; that has caused irreparable damage to millennia of harmony. But at the last now we begin to see that many hands can effect a great change even though that change may never be seen. It has all happened before and it will all happen again, but maybe next time we will learn and see that there is another way.

So I stand under the tremulous guard of an ancient oak and I can hear the world in whispers that speak of the pain of trees. I feel it too and the soul asks that I stop and I shall, for it is spring and the rapid growth brings forth chaos. How shall I answer the world if I have torn so much of it apart? I shall answer that never did I harm beyond the bounds of which I was taught, till I taught myself there was a better way. And the world answers with a rainbow that sits at my feet and birds sing and my heart flies for the mind does not need to harbour secret thoughts when we have a beautiful world to share them with.