Go infinitely down and up the valley without ever touching the ground. To be carried away by the movement of the machine which, without flickering for a fraction of a second, operates perfectly vertically to the hillsides its description. Feel every vibration of the branches and leaves, recognise the living disorder of the flight of the midges and the poetry of that of the butterflies. Head in the stars, feet on the ground, the body sways. Eyes pointing at the Milky Way, the wind of the valley blows the full-bodied smells of a thousand plants that you cannot smell without being there. If the savage tends to disappear in appearance, he still resists the images. And perhaps it is this impossibility that brings lightness into our hearts.
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