I don't travel so much now, I get tired

To return to my own trees, I went among them often, acknowledging their presence with a touch of my hand against their trunks.

It is always the same with mountains. Once you have lived with them for any length of time, you belong to them. There is no escape.

I have come to believe that the best kind of walk, or journey, is the one in which you have no particular destination when you set out.

But the trees seemed to know me. They whispered among themselves and beckoned me nearer. And looking around, I noticed the other small trees and wild plants and grasses had sprung up under the protection of the trees we had placed there. The trees had multiplied! They were moving. In one small corner of the world, Grandfather's dream was coming true and the trees were moving again.

How evanescent those loves and friendships seem at this distance in time…We move on, make new attachments. We grow old. But sometimes, we hanker for old friendships, the old loves. Sometimes I wish I was young again. Or that I could travel back in time and pick up the threads. Absent so long, I may have stopped loving you, friends; but I will never stop loving the Day I loved you.

and when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.