Nature is the first letterless text of Man,
disguised in the signs of flora, fauna and fungus.
We read it in the course of the seasons and in the growth of life,
grafting it into key narratives along the way.

We conquer Earth during a global hike,
anchor our culture in both spirit and nature,
format the structure of the mind in a unique mixture,
and generate the distinctive signature of our species.

We connect rites and habits with the traditions of our ancestors,
mirroring the ancestry of generations in constellations of distant celestial bodies,
interpreting the paths of life in metaphysical manifestations.

We seek knowledge in the databases of nature,
uncover messages in clouds, streams and forests,
dwell on the lunar phases and the ecstasies of love,
decode the paths of existence and the laws of the spirit.

We are grateful for the sun and the rain,
and the sight of lightning and the sound of thunder,
for nature is both the entrance and the path
to the underlying order of reality.

In light of this the biggest veteran trees of remarkable age
become universal world trees of mythologies in all their grandeur —
for no other species stretch as high and eagerly to the peaks of heaven
or is rooted as deep underground as our ancestors’ memories.

And just consider the Scarab that runs around with tiny balls of powerful dung,
consider that the dung contains tiny eggs with a potential of something very, very great,
consider that its tiny larvae are hatched in feces, that through the old commandments of analogy
connects the Scarab and the dung with no other than the Egyptian sun god,
consider the great in the small when the solar disk rolls life-giving across the blue sky,
consider the fine observation and delicate association — oh, it makes us rather dizzy …