HARMONICUS 

Thus I find myself, a wondrous synthesis of mud and stars, weaving the praises of a nature that is not a setting, but substance; a glorious enigma in which my voice is lost to become, finally, universal harmony.

Walking barefoot is the beginning of all wisdom. Feeling the cold of the grass, the warmth of the stone, the dust that becomes flesh. The water flowing in the stream is the same that flows through my veins; it is not a possession, but a breath to be given back. The wind does not ask permission, it sweeps away the superfluous and reminds us that we are made of air and expectations. No great words are needed to love the land that hosts us. The silence of a seed is enough, the patience of a growing forest, the gentle shadow of a leaf. Respecting a blade of grass is respecting ourselves, because there is no boundary between the beat of my heart and the breath of the world. We are one, roots and thoughts, under the same sky.