If you are among those who try to understand the language of nature, you will have numerous ‘friends’ when you go to Küre.
The snow begins to be above my knees and really slow me down. It is with difficulty that I slog along the forest trail, which has been obliterated by the snow. “Grit your teeth,” I murmur to myself, “it’s not much further to the waterfall,” as miniature icicles start to form on my mustache. Suddenly I remember a conversation I had on this same trail with villagers in the fall, when they were hauling firewood on horseback. One of them had said, “The forest here has a spirit. When the snow falls hard and the branches are weighed down close to snapping, we can hear the trees cry. In the spring we hear the joyful shouting of the flowers, in summer the birds sing giving thanks to life, and in the fall we hear the mushrooms talking as they push up through the earth after it rains. Anyone who doesn’t underestimate the forest will begin to hear these voices after a while.”