We all work in the same forest.  It’s a line I don’t forget why I said, but I don’t know why I should remember.

It can be interpreted as love, goodness, and a bit of sorrow. Ahmet Güntan’s poem “The Rumbling of the Forests”, which brings us all together and leaves everyone in deep forests, will be raised almost like a flag to the flagpole, and if we go deeper, we will raise ourselves to the next pole! It is such a time and such a forest, the song “I ended up in a forest where the path is not clear,” probably made for a forest of that time.

Forest. It is a way of road. It can be counted as another journey, or exuberance among the roads. One might want to go while the road is green. Also, has Oktay Akbal not written Human Is a Forest? Forest is a way of road, what about the road? Road is neither a way of existence or arrival. It is a way of flow. It is not a straight way of flow. It is sometimes sky high, sometimes flat, sometimes winding, and sometimes short…

Forest is a way of thought, a way of dreaming and loving the thought. Nomadic thought, highland thought… Forest is the winter residence of nomads. Winter residence; winter in abroad. Walk of trees. Have you heard of it? Migration of trees. As if we are in the 1300s, the Middle Ages in the West, the attack of the Mongols to Anatolia in the East, the days of the great Anatolian Rebellion… World migration. Before the soul migration. Not to the other world. World migrates within. World migrates to the sea, to the middle, to far, to shore, to near, to east, to west, to north. As if the birds stopped migrating. They just stopped in the air somewhere between the sky and the ground. So, they were saved… Were they? Yes, they were. If it were up to humans, they would migrate out of this world!

Forest may be for this reason, a mustering point. A nomad’s tent. An umbrella of dreams. Exuberance of thoughts. Freedom to mankind, animal kingdom, trees, and nature. Forest is the freedom of the world, like the leaf of a tree. It is something blue as the birds are the freedom of the sky. It is something green. It is red everything.

Nazım Hikmet greets the beech tree, seen by Hermann Hesse as the harmony of movement and serenity, with Snowy Beech Forest: “In the snowy beech forest / I walk at night / dolefully / give me your hand where is your hand?” Hesse, whose childhood was spent in the Black Forest says, “Far away was more noble, silkier, / Decorated with pine groves / The mountains were happier, more fertile / As they shone in my child eyes,” in his poem.

In the Anatolian Landscapes (1957), the second of the legendary books, the first one is called ‘Conversations with the Hawthorn Tree’ by the way, Professor Dr. Hikmet Birand, a foresighted botanist, does not ignore the conversation and spends A Day in the Keltepe Forests and expresses the relationship between the gothic and the forest: “The Germans say that the gothic comes out of beech forests and praises the beech forests as beech cathedral.”

Gothic forests, baroque forests, forests that always want to go beyond. As Prof. Birand said, ‘forest trees’ “put a wing, a propeller, a parachute on their seeds and ask the wind to blow them out of the forest and away.”

Will fate finally bring together those who leave, will it bring people and trees together, will the forest of life be established? The questions of the traveler do not end, life ends but the questions don’t, if questions end then the life ends, the tree ends, the forest does, too. If life ends, the road ends!

All are included in the road: plateau, plain, river, sky, night, sun, moon, trees, waters, parks, forests. As Ahmed Arif considered the forms of roads: “We are in the science of getting together all chapters/ rail asphalt roadway macadam/ my steep road, my path…”

No matter how small the bird is, it still grows the branch it lands… The road goes through the forest.