If you wish to make anything grow, you must understand it, and understand it in a very real sense. ‘Green fingers' are a fact and a mystery only to the unpracticed. But green fingers are the extensions of a verdant heart.
Sometimes, when a bird cries out,
Or the wind sweeps through a tree,
Or a dog howls in a far off farm,
I hold still and listen a long time.
My soul turns and goes back to the place
Where, a thousand forgotten years ago,
The bird and the blowing wind
Were like me, were my brothers and sisters.
My soul turns into a tree...