…Inside me lives a mischievous character, a goblin. I would wish for my entire life to be a series of pirouettes. To balance outside of reason and law, to violate schedules and fertilize eggs, to be indifferent to the consequences of my actions – do those who measure and re-measure them make any sense of it? Do they escape the randomness and the fleeting nature of existence? To feel moments like notes, to obey only my inner rhythm…

Inside me persists the little kid who constantly caused trouble, who stuck out his tongue to everyone, whose world was a blank sheet of paper, which he would sometimes paint, sometimes smudge, and sometimes set on fire... I admire those who set out for the kiosk and find themselves at the other end of the world. The people-birds, wherever they may be from and whatever their homeland.

I am a tree. Can a bird become a tree, or a tree become a bird? As a tree, what can you hope for? To refresh those who rest in your shade. To be preferred by the winged ones, so they can build their nests. To have your fruits enjoyed by squirrels and little foxes.

Above all, when the wind rises, to have your leaves swell like the sails of a ship, even as your roots keep you anchored in the same place. To make the air into music, and your music to reach places you will never find yourself. "The tree sings again..." they will say.