For I, this day, have seen the face of my own soul, and her face is precisely that of the wild wood, the grassy fields, the mountain ranges. Her face is the storm and the ocean, the song of the living beings, and their dream of life and fulfillment. The face of my soul is the living story of my world which is written not in words, but lives and places. The deserts, the tundra, the prairies. The history of the wasps and the memories of the giraffe. I have seen the face of my soul and I know her name among men: Nature.