PREVIOUSLY :
A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening . If one listens to them silently for a long time , this longing reveals its kernel , its meaning . It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering , though it may seem to be so . It is a longing for home , for a memory of the mother , for new metaphors for life . It leads home . Every path leads homeward , every step is birth , every step is death , every grave is mother .
So the tree rustles in the evening , when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts : Trees have long thoughts , long - breathing and restful , just as they have longer lives than ours . They are wiser than we are , as long as we do not listen to them . But when we have learned how to listen to trees
