We are not alone in the world, only human in the way we tell its story. The forest does not know its name, but it grows and holds us by the hand. It does not speak as we speak, but it lives, constant and slow. If a flower is lost in the meadow, the sky becomes a little lighter. And we, inside all of this, learn too late that the world is not meant to be explained: it is only meant to be loved in its entirety.