George lived alone. This was not really a choice. It's true that since he was a child, Georges made up stories. Stories "to sleep on" as his grandmother used to say. He had a great imagination, spoke to himself and saw things that were invisible to others. For all these reasons, he was thought to be crazy for a long time. This is often what happens when you are different.
The truth is that Georges was too sensitive and the world too hard. His stories softened reality and made it bearable. So when the pandemic arrived, Georges naturally imagined that the world was at risk of an invasion of pandas. At first he was a little scared, like everyone else, and then he came to hope for their arrival. In his garden, the koi were unaware of the threat. He preferred not to tell them about it. As for the cat, it continued to live its life as if nothing had happened. Yet George knew that he knew. But he didn't dare tell him either. In addition to his susceptibility, his cat also had a great capacity for abstraction. He could stay there sleeping, carefree. And the amazing thing was that no one could tell if he was really or if he was just pretending to be.
He preferred to see him sleeping. That way he didn't risk chasing away the birds that took advantage of the opportunity to peck at the seeds he had left in a pile outside. For George, these were seeds of hope. After much reflection, he concluded that his cat was a sophrologist, his fish were Zen monks and the birds were poets. There was no other rational explanation.
George regularly visited his bamboos, absent-mindedly looking for signs of ursid passage. The winter passed slowly in this way. The passage of time is sweet for the one who lives the hours with lightness. Then came the rains and the sleet. George lived less well his forced reclusion. He noticed the rising waters. "It's a pity," said Georges, "if I were much further south I could plant mangroves". He then imagined himself in a boat in his garden, in the middle of the Koi carp.
After a while it's annoying all this water. You don't know where to put it. With dust it's easier, there's always a carpet where you can hide it.
George wondered if he was not really going crazy. At the same time, with all these pandas that nobody saw, it was not surprising.
And then one day the sun came out again. George was listening to "This could be the day" by Calvin Russel, the perfect moment to decide to go for a walk, and too bad for the pandas.
He was in the heart of the valley, where the river snaked between the trees. In this place forgotten by time and men, he stayed there to catch the few rays of sunlight that managed to make their way through.
- Have you noticed the balance that reigns here?
George was startled. He had just met Milana. But it was like looking at the sun from the front. So he blinked, hoping it wasn't a hallucination. But no, the young woman was still there.
- Sorry I scared you
As he searched for words, Milana looked out over the surrounding countryside:
- A forest is noisy. Yet one has an impression of silence, not like in the city
George came out of his silence:
- I almost never go to the city. Everything goes too fast.
They remained silent for a long moment. She resumed:
- What is surprising is that in the city men have built temples. As if they had wanted to find the silence of the deep forests.
- But it is enough to go there.
Then she told him how the trees had taught her patience, that she had searched for something for a long time, sometimes to the end of the world, sometimes at the risk of her life, that she had just returned from an expedition with the sea shepherd. She asked him if he had ever listened carefully to Jain's "so peaceful" lyrics.
George in turn told her that the trees had taught him that dying did not necessarily mean perishing, that he needed to tell stories to make life more bearable.
She told him that nature could also fulfill this role and advised him to write stories.
Neither of them dared to talk about it, but living together was also a possibility to be seriously considered. But that was another story.
