When I am the happiest, I watch the fir trees and pines from above and ponder who and how does he stack rows of three or five-pointed sprouts on top of the trees, which are to be branches in the future. Sometimes there are only two – so little, and sometimes – even eight, and again on the stem there are buds and there are new progeny, a next line of shoots wide and round, i.e. expansion and growth. Of course, there is only one way to observe the tops of conifers – when using a lift to get on the slopes, and your heart is calm not to beat for anything else. For me, these are rare moments of happiness. And how to hear happiness? Again in the mountains, in clear winter days the snow squeaks in a special way under the ski. I have presumed that this tight wheezing, which does not happen often, is the sound of pure nature in harmony. I observe other beauties, too – sometimes it rains in rags, and other times the snowflakes are in graceful geometric hexagons, as they cut them once from Styrofoam and made them stick on the windows in schools. Everything that appears in my head or in yours, of course, is a product of what we’ve seen, or the direction in which we are taught to think. It seems to be programmed how to feel happiness – when you achieve something nice that you value, even if it’s easy as a nice day of skiing – some subcortex stop producing those molecules that constantly push you to strive, to drill and to progress. I’d better stop here so it won’t happen that the pleasures hinder progress, or that I speak non-sense. Other times I have amused myself guessing what would follow, I have been looking for consistency in the sequence of events. Years ago I even collected any omens in different cultures around the world – since the world began, people explore such dependencies – the Incas and Mayans, and Chinese, and Indians, and the ancient Bulgarians. I gained very solid documentation, among which gleamed a weather book from 1904 and some empirical observations, confirming the stories of old people from Pancharevo: the day before they fly to the south, swallows peck out the fruits of the black elderberry. The same findings occur in different places at different times, so I was not surprised as I read that the fragrant white clusters of elder bushes that in late summer grow like ripe berries with dark purple tiny beads, were a strong cardiostimulator with usage in not one or two folk medicines. Of course, I have thought of writing a book about prophecies and heralds, but I do not believe that a single man would have ‘suffered’ so long from happiness so as to write a whole book or even just read it from A to Z.