I have a deep love for the wild, for the untamed. The wild flowers on the sides of the roads are so beautiful. They are neither watered nor picked. They have no masters, thus no trespassers. They stand out to me rather than those expensively groomed bouquet blossoms. Their language is original and strong. In a city full of the so called civilized, there are the good and the bad, the meek and the strong, the clever and the foolish. Sometimes there are the half clever and the half foolish even. But when you step into nature’s empire, you can witness magnificence in the entirety. The same magnificence is withheld by the tiny too. A little petite white flower on the damp forest ground is as wild as the majestic tiger that roams the woods. The little petite white flower on the damp forest ground is as wild as the forest itself.
On a field that is ploughed and sowed, there is care. There are weeds that have to be uprooted first and finally the whole crop is uprooted, harvested. In a jungle, there is no weed. Everything is a part of the family. They grow, feed each other, laugh, dance, celebrate life and die. It is perfect harmony and it is freedom. Wilderness is love.