I sing to the trees – and they dance back to me.

If the art is altruistic, then always it is healing.

The trees don't regard their lichens as eczema.

Countless stars in the universe, countless spirits in their World: and the medium has a telescope.

A bird in the sky, a dot on my canvas.

If only I could paint the sky!

A clear blue sky, empty, all yin, on which Somebody then paints a cloud of yang.

I laugh with Life. Laughing, we Embrace.

Thousands of therapies – all with but one intention.

Every tree a Witness, every branch Testifying.