John Berger – Each pine at dusk

Each pine at dusk lodges the bird of its voice perpendicular and still the forest indifferent to history tearless as stone repeats in tremulous excitement the ancient story of the sun going down. John Berger from “And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos” New Yorker – Postscript: John Berger, 1926 – 2017: http://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/postscript-john-berger-1926-2017