It is a sunny day and I look outside the window. The branches of this tree are bare. Naked. To some they might express – this is a place of death, no energy resides in this shape any longer. But I follow the branches all the way to the top. There, like little miracles, life finds its source, a rebirth in the dead branches.

I read somewhere that the German poet and writer Goethe once said everything is a metaphor. I think back to a moment in time when I watched the sunset in Vancouver and I concluded that everything is in everything. And you can find waves in the clouds.