Look at the nature of this grass, save it fine and listen. Leaves, the cuckoo; many birds in the trees – who knows who they are? – with their cries and their peep, crickets in the grass, the wind passing through the leaves. A big concert that thrives life your, completely indifferent, detached from what happens to me, from death that aspect. The ants continue to walk, birds sing to them it gave, the wind blows.