# *Apprehension* In the faded forest is a birdcall that seems meaningless in this faded forest And yet the rounded birdcall rests in this interim that shaped it, wide as a sky upon the faded forest. Everything pliantly makes room in the cry: The whole landscape seems to lie there soundlessly, the great wind seems to nestle inside, and time, which wants to move on, has, pale and silent, as if it knew things for which one has to die, risen out of it. — [[Rainer Maria Rilke]] translated by [[Edward Snow]]