words from mister francis ponge:
What is it made of, this pleasure?- Principally of this: the pine woods is a piece of nature, made of trees all of a clearly defined species; a well delimited piece, generally quite deserted, where one finds shelter from the sun, from wind, from visibility; but no absolute shelter, not one completely isolated. No! It is a relative shelter. Not a sneaky shelter, nor a measly one, but a noble shelter.
It's a place too...where development is gradual, natural, without coppicing, without man-high branches, where sprawling out simply occurs, without slackness, but quite comfortably.
Each pine wood is like a natural sanatorium, as well as a music hall...a chamber, a vast cathedral of meditation (a cathedral without pulpit, fortunately) open to all the winds, but through so many doors that it's as if they were closed. For they hesitate there.
...
No laughter, but what salubrious comfort, what a temperateness of elements, what a soberly scented hall of music, soberly adorned, well made for serious walks and meditation.
-francis ponge-
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