"I am a nomad, not a farmer. I am an adorer of the unfaithful, the changing, the fantastic.""The one thing you dread it, letting yourself fall, taking the step into uncertainty, the little step beyond all the securities that existed. And whoever had once surrendered himself, one single time. Who ever had entrusted himself to fate was liberated. It was blissful to live, it was blissful to die. No magic ever interrupted the eternal chain of birth, the endless succession of God's breath. But there was another kind of peace to be found within your own self. Its name was, let yourself fall. Do not fight back, die gladly live gladly."
A branch, broken and split, dangling year after year, clicking its song to the wind, with neither leaves nor bark, bear, wan, worn out by a long life and a long death. Its song echoes, cracking and persistent. Stubbornly, it resounds with secret anguish for yet another summer, yet another winter.