I did not choose to wander in the woods. But eventually the animals as I always end up with back to where they came from and where they belong. The dense jungle does not frighten me, or rather attracts me and calls me and recognize me. A sosrta osmosis between drop and sea. And as time pass on you, the tracks change every hour. I heard once that smell. Now I recognized. A kind of rapture fills you when one of your senses, perhaps more acute than the creator has given me, comes in the drawer closed and opens them in bulk, as if looking for an old test too well hidden even from herself , between the socks, including undergarments, and throwing passes in bulk here and there in all that it finds you. Figs finds. It is a glimpse of awareness, lighting, storage in excess of images and sounds: pure essence. Time changes things, but not remove. Or rather, do not remove this you are. I cast. I do for a living. Hunting the truth, hunting mistakes, weaknesses and drive out the beauty. I give chase to the silences that are just wrappers of something precious, I give chase to the nature, essence, to the depths of things. I see. I feel it. I listen. I taste. I touch. I feel it. That 's what I do because I'm good at it, I'm able to do so and in the thick of the forest, between a whistle and flirt sfrugnare of the leaves, I feel I am of the same activity that feeds me. I am a hunter. Cassandra knows.
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