Many of the forest lords prefer not to pronounce their names. They would rather to be identified by their behaviour and clothing. In the tall woods flashes of light at sunset trace magical, mysterious pathways And far, far away, the palm trees appear to take pleasure in the tropical breeze that suddenly tosses their manes. Time and the handwork of man transform and dignify the timbers of mountain homes, the simple fences along mountain paths and forgotten dead tree trunks The noble strength of the Larch reveals unsuspected precious reflections; simple fences and ancient knots display motifs that remind us of op-art. The ancient bodies of the pinus pinea tree in the Tuscan macchia ooze precious resins so it seems almost possible to smell the perfume. Man assaults tree-trunks with saws and cuts deep wounds into them. Lightning and the crash of a fall make wounds and trauma, exhibited with pride. With the skilled labor of time, fungi, moss and lichens design and mould shapes worthy of expert craftsmen using chisels and brush. The rings inexorably impressed in tree trunks exude a trickle of vital liquid, almost the painful stigmata of time. Memory and imagination can make signs into dreamlike magic. It is not unusual for informal pictures, helped by wind or fog, to appear – masterpieces of nature, as always, a leading actor.