When in the woods, a degree of ferality sets in. As it should. Also a degree of animism. When the mist uncoils upward from the river where the branches are straining outward and the stones are slowly shifting in their muddy beds, it is hard to ignore the life within ‘inanimate’ things. Best pay them a small tribute, as they may someday come to your rescue.
(still from The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser.)