I trust what he says, and you must admit, these days, trusting what anyone says is rather unusual. Our sad truth is that we are surrounded by constant lies, wherever we turn, whenever it is. This is the spectacle, aggravated a thousand times. So, now, I only listen to the owl. With him, I can discuss, without haste, the things that matter, the phase of the moon, the small buds on the camelia, the smile of that furtive creature I sometime see, on my solitary walks. We both enjoy each other’s company, often in silence. We rarely talk about the “world”, or rather the appearance of it that preoccupies the “others”. He’s lived a long life, he remembers every thing. I share his contempt for the godless maniacs, out there.