The forest drips and glows with green. The tree-frog croaks his far-off song. His voice is stillness, moss and rain, drunk from the forest ages long. We cannot understand that call unless we move into his dream, where all is one and one is all and frog and python are the same. We with our quick dividing eyes, measure, distinguish and are gone. The forest burns, the tree-frog dies, yet one is all and all is one.