It is only by spring that the death of the autumns returns. What about winter, which is death? When the pure snow white covers the naked bodies of the trees that no longer have leaves, when they sleep dreaming about the new leaves that will come over their bodies with bark covered by ice and freezing? Do these trees know that they are just like our ancestors, that for generations produced branches of offspring in our history, of each one of us, even if these branches, some of them forgotten, have been almost fully burned by the original sin that came as a curse on our beings when we lots our Sacred Self, the divinity in us. As not even trees know how beautiful they are, in the eyes of the people, during spring, when they give birth to death, we do not know how beautiful we can be at the time of the first kiss or of the first love words to those for which we are, just as trees are for us: a wonder of nature, of the spring. Why should we not find peace and the divinity