Vacuum, it was all gone…and the silence of the forest takes over, embracing life as if it was life itself being encapsulated by a forest-green urn. Every thought, every sound, the entire spectrum of possibility, it is all within the grasp of the living. The living is we and them, the covenant of the natural and nature.
Tall were the trees, inhabiting the heights and rooted within a living carpet of life in minuscule forms, infinitesimal possibilities of the expression of life and living. The crisp of leaves and wooden solids orchestrate sound with the chimes of winds, whistling through and from this scenery, the mighty forest of the living creatures. For the forest can sing devoid of voice, exists without being and breathes without existing. It envisions without its own eyes and commands: the sounds of the forest are the thoughts of the living.
It is alive but unseen, somewhat like the existence of air, somewhat like the lies, the conspiracy of the ballad of masquerades. For that who exists beyond sight, in the reign of abstract form, needs not of eyes but soul-full imagination. Evidence there is not, not for any eye, not even the eye of the experienced curator or the gifted artist. Is the experience of the forest what lets you know it is alive, not composed of living elements but alive by itself?