I flee the heat of a summer afternoon and plunge into the woods. Abandoning the safety of the path, I ventured along a slope covered with thick vegetation. All around me tower ancient larches and firs. A warm wind from the foot of the valley stirred the tops, casting an endless dance of light and shadow on the forest floor, a true balm for the eyes. When I reached the edge of a broad clearing, I stopped in front of a young fir tree, perhaps four or five years old. Its fresh needles were of an almost unbelievably bright green and soul-stirring to the touch. After looking at it carefully, I decided to linger a while by its side. Taking advantage of a convenient soft bed of moss, I lay down and closed my eyes. The time that passed was immeasurable, but then, all of a sudden, a voice rang out…

-Everyone teases me here in the forest because I’m small and because I dream about Christmas…

Torn from my slumbers, I glanced around, but to my great surprise, I saw no living soul. So who had spoken?

-Perhaps you can help me. The voice came again. Perhaps you can tell my story. You’re the first human to stop near me, I’ve seen others from a distance, always on the move, riding bicycles or walking, noisy, and apparently hardly interested in we trees at all. No one had ever caressed me with such tenderness.

As I listen to that youthful voice, I hardly dare move for fear of causing it to disappear. Then I plucked up courage and replied.

-So who are you? -The little fir tree next to you… -I didn’t know trees could talk… -Sure they talk, you just need to know how to listen to them. It’s a question of frequencies and wavelengths. And you were very close to me from the outset. -Maybe… but I’ve never talked to a young inhabitant of the forest before… -Look at me; I’ve just turned four years old. And I’m full of energy and ideas… -That’s great! Tell me all about it! I’m listening…

-Well, for a while now, I’ve been dreaming about Christmas Day; I know you humans have created this holiday, and you like to stay at home and keep a tree of my species in the living room to honour it and, above all, to fill it with glittering decorations… -That’s true. We do have this tradition. And everyone loves it, young and old alike… -You see? It must be wonderful. How I’d like to enjoy that experience! To see the children quivering with excitement at the idea of decorating me and then welcoming them with gifts carefully arranged beneath my branches… what a dream! -I think that’s a dream that would be easy to achieve…

-That’s what you think! My father instead just keeps reminding me that the chances of someone coming into the forest and choosing me are remote, to say the least. You need a concrete plan in life; he repeats it every day. What would you say to becoming a fine table one day? Or beams? Strong beams to build a cottage on an alpine meadow? Thank goodness for my grandfather, who's more than 100 years old and lives further up in the highest part of the forest. At my age, he was a dreamer too. After surviving droughts and storms, he now recognises that just being a tree is wonderful and important in and of itself. And he enjoys his life up there…

–What a moving story. I sincerely hope that you manage to achieve your dream. If you like, I could try to let you experience some of the magic of Christmas in advance…
–What do you mean?
–Well, look… There are lots of blue, purple, and even yellow flowers around here. I could try using them to decorate your beautiful green mane… Please. Let me try… you’ll see; you’ll like it…
–It’s not exactly the same thing, but if you insist…

And so I began to “dress” the little tree with flowers, leaves, and mosses, even managing to place a cone at the top as a star… He stopped talking and began to tremble all over. I left my friend cloaked in a golden light. It was obvious that he was pleased with the surprise. When I left, I turned back one last time towards the clearing where the little fir was full of the joys of life, and my thoughts lingered on my childhood Christmases so long that I felt heartbeats and emotions I had thought lost.

Be a stone just for one day

The forecasts promised sun through the evening, then rain. I had decided not to waste time and had been in place on the bank of the stream for hours. No talking trees or woodland reflections today. Here, the roaring water was centre stage. The sight of that silvery flow seemed to have the power to capture all my thoughts, but that proved not to be the case, and within a few minutes, I found my curiosity aroused by several rocks scattered along the banks. I feel that the impressive force of the water running unstoppably is born out of the contrast with the immobility of these petrified giants. As I look at them, my fascination grows. It grows and grows to the point where I am dreaming about becoming one of them, and I almost forget about the water because all I see are mighty boulders, and I envy their physical presence. I decide to emulate them, if not in their mass or weight, at least in their immobility on the ground. To this end, I begin digging a deep hole in the sand with my bare hands; I jump in and bury my legs, rooting them in place almost up to my waist. How the scene changes! And my perception of all the things around me! The water in the stream suddenly seems to run faster and more abundantly. And the restricted view allows me to focus on details of the landscape that previously escaped me completely. A few minutes previously, I was sitting on a rock, convinced I was still. In reality, it was a pause, one of many made when jumping from one rock to another… Instead, I was experiencing true, total immobility and found it wonderful. Like the previous day, in the undergrowth, today I again feel the need to slow the rhythms of my life; I want to stop being at the mercy of induced and neurotic mobility. I want to stay still, motionless…

However, perhaps I spoke too soon. After half an hour, I noticed a strange trembling in my legs, and anxious thoughts began to run through me. How stupid these experiments were, I thought to myself. How stupid I have been to get myself into this state. If I do not do something to free myself, I could end up spending the night in this prison. And what about a flash flood? And what if no one passed this way for the next few days? I am an idiot. I clumsily try to claw my way out of my hole, but the weight of the sand works against me. My instinctive scream is immediately smothered by the roar of the torrent. I'm done. About to slip into pure despair, I look around in a futile search for help among the enormous, solitary boulders. I even pleaded aloud to the closest of them, a beast at least two meters in diameter: "Help me, please… help me."

This just has the effect of plunging me into an even deeper state of mental prostration. I'd asked for help from a rock; not only am I an idiot, but now I know I'm going mad… At that very moment, the earth shook with two blows in rapid succession. A rumble like distant thunder, and finally a voice…

-So, you've given up? That's a pity, you were doing well…
-Who are you?
-You can see me; I'm right in front of you. I've not moved for hundreds of years…
-A rock?
-Exactly.
-What were you saying about me?
-Oh, nothing. I was just thinking aloud. I liked your reflections on nature. For a few hours, we've shared the same point of view, starting out from a very similar state of immobility…
-Yes, but I've had enough of this stillness; I can't stand it any longer.
-Hah! That is understandable; you are human after all, not a rock. You have to admit, however, that stillness lets you discover new things.
-New things? Yes, definitely.
-Above all an urge to stretch my legs such as I've never felt before in my life.
-But I wasn't referring to that. About an hour ago I heard that…
-Rocks can hear?
-Well, yes…
-What can I say, perhaps you're referring to my thoughts on the uncontrolled frenzy of my fellow humans, to my intolerance of this restless world in which no one seems to be happy with anything, to a…
-Exactly…
-You're right, I asked myself questions, perhaps a few more than usual. That said, I'm absolutely convinced that a 'petrified' life is a terrible condition.
-And why's that? -Well, because there are obvious limitations! The point of view, for one thing, is so restricted…

-My dear, perhaps you do not realise that once upon a time we boulders beached here in the valley were one at the top of these towering mountains. We lived so long up there, feasting on open spaces and big skies… We knew all the stars and the habits of the great birds of prey, while those migrating had no secrets from us. That is no small matter, believe me…
-Goodness! I did not know that… But tell me, how long have you been settled down here?
-Round about three hundred years. -Good grief! Time has a completely different meaning for you, rocks. I feel so inadequate with my limited human life…
-Hey! Wasn’t I the limited one?
-Well, in the end, down here, you’re cut out of everything; look, the sun’s still high, but you’re already in the shade. Instead, I can follow the sun; I can discern beauty in its full daily cycle… while you miss all the dawns and all the sunsets…

While I was already incredulous regarding this surreal conversation, I noted with no less skepticism that the boulder was actually moving, drawing ever closer to me. At a certain point, there was a tremendous commotion, and a crack appeared along the polished surface of the colossus.

-Look! I have no need for sunlight…

Before my very eyes, inside the fissure that was becoming wider, I saw something extraordinary, something I could never forget: crystals, crystals as far as the eye could see, of all shapes and sizes, veritable luminous worlds formed in the obscurity of the geological eras. A final ray of sunshine filtered through the trees at that moment, generating, in contact with the crystals, a reverberating light so intense that it illuminated the entire forest. I had to protect my eyes with both hands. Distracted by the light show, I almost missed the fact that my legs were regaining strength and helping myself with my arms. After digging a little, I soon managed to climb out of the hole. I turned back happily, as if to display my newfound freedom, but to my great surprise, I found just a large, dark, and silent rock. The fissure with the crystals had disappeared; the rock was solidly anchored to the ground, with the mass of water in tireless movement behind it.

What if

In this part of the forest, the vegetation is sparse, and the sun filters through powerfully.

I sit for a moment in contemplation, savouring the heat that caresses my face. The voice of my wildest inner part, insistently invites me to let myself go, to strip off my clothes, allowing my naked body to enjoy the sun for once. Other opposing voices immediately cut in. My insistent, -Why don’t I take all my clothes off? is met with a prudish, -What if somebody sees me? Or the moralist, -Do you think people normally walk around the forest naked?

Paralysed with uncertainty, I stand still and breathe. But not before taking off my T-shirt. This could be a compromise that keeps everyone happy, I think, noticing with pleasure how my torso already begins to burn. In the meantime, the sun begins to cook up new desires, which reinforces my courage. And so, without further ado, I begin to strip, slowly at first and then faster and faster until I'm naked. Yes, finally, naked in the forest. I feel like Adam, a modern version of the mythical man. And if there is someone looking at me, let them look; what’s wrong after all? Nothing. I contemplate my body again with curiosity and pride. In this natural sanctuary, my physique, still vigorous and athletic, fits in well with the celebration of beauty and… You’re not so big! The choral murmur of the surrounding trees arrives suddenly…

-How dare you! I shout, intimately irritated. -Show some respect! I sit down. Shame comes over me. My pasty white winter body suddenly seemed less muscular, even ugly. Yes, I really had it coming. To think I never strip off when I am walking in the woods… I cannot work out how it happened… but I have to admit, the call was very powerful.

I start to get up when echoes of distant voices filter through. But my spirit is elsewhere; I no longer want to hide. In fact, after improvising a dance, I smile and bathe in the pleasure of my freedom. Who knows? Perhaps today someone else has done the same; perhaps close by there is another naked human. Who knows, perhaps more than one… Yes, yes. For a moment, I imagine the forest constellated with glowing, liberated, and exultant bodies. Like me.

A cloud passes in front of the sun. I decide to get dressed.

The reverse operation is decidedly slower. As I put on each garment, at every gesture, gratitude and nostalgia compete to interrupt and delay me. Allowing me to enjoy every moment of my return to normality.

Under forest’s forest

Following the unexpected heliotherapy session, I fancy cooling down. This prompts me to look with particular interest at a hollow densely cloaked with broadleaf vegetation, interspersed here and there with small streams with a soothing sound. A microcosm awaits down there, ready to reveal itself to my eyes. I lie down under those immense leaves and discover an unknown world. There are many creatures down there—insects, ants, multi-coloured mushrooms, and branches fallen since time immemorial—that have become shelters for larvae of all sizes. From that perspective, a rivulet is a river, a stem bent over water, a providential bridge, a lizard, or a menacing iguana from prehistoric times. I am struck by the vibrant vitality of that place, but even more by its autonomous dimension, by its belonging to the whole—to the forest, to the universe—and, at the same time, by its separation from the rest of the world. I don't know much about the inhabitants of this patch of land, but I have reason to believe that none of them knows what goes on a kilometer away and that each of these lives is unaware of the existence of "otherness" outside their own space, no matter whether it is the village down there or the valley as a whole or the immensity of the world of which perhaps only we humans have true awareness. But perhaps I'm wrong. Yes, maybe there was an emerald beetle that one day dared to challenge the unknown and went further. Who knows... Or maybe it was it was a passing bee that revealed to other species (through a dance?) that there is an elsewhere, and this revelation spread everywhere through a spontaneous grapevine and created for a time disquiet, or perhaps just disbelief and discontent. It's not wrong to limit oneself to one's own little world. Once it was the only possibility for many, then, in more recent times, it was thought that the opposite tension, that permanent departures were fairer. Today, after the pandemic, we are re-evaluating the value of things close by and the slow life.

It’s time to go back. As I search for the path, I glimpse, high in the sky, a plane with its white trail. I had big plans for the autumn; I wanted to go here and there, but suddenly none of those plans appeared necessary anymore. I call Jeremy—to think that I'd actually teased him—and tell him that the idea of making a vegetable garden outside the city isn't bad. And yes, if he wanted to, we could start right away, maybe even with just a little lettuce and two tomato plants, and then we'll see how it goes...