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.

“Good Morning,” I sing to the trees so still, and they dance in response.

A forest of trees dancing as conducted by the wind, Heaven's Breath.

Was tree worship so primitive? Or Enlightened?

Stoicism: the teaching of the Greek philosopher, Zeno from his stoa, his porch. From my porch, I learn from the tree: stoic throughout the year.

If I could fly, it would be to that tree.

My heart doesn't pulse – it is Pulsed.