The waves of the sea change, the winds change, the clouds change, but they always change the same. We live; we die. Sometimes we suffer, and sometimes we live without struggle. We can understand changes like these. My people have lived in this place since the beginning of time, since the seas filled and the mountains rose. We have lived here since the rivers flowed, since the shore of the sea was drawn. We didn’t know how this could change. We learned the words of our mothers and of our grandmothers’ mothers before we learned to speak. We learned the words of our fathers and of our grandfathers’ fathers. Their words have remained in our hearts. The elders of our people have always been like mountain streams, like forests full of game, like winds that blow from the sea. Their words have flowed quietly in summer, they have raged forcefully in spring, and their words have remained in our hearts. Both words and silences have remained. People do not always speak of what they love, but what they love is shown by their care. The graves of our people are everywhere, everywhere we step, everywhere we sleep. They are in our hills and in our valleys. They are the grass in these green meadows. We are never alone on these tree-lines shores. We hear them in the rocks and streams. It used to be incomprehensible to us to live in a place without an eternity of love, without a place our ancestors cared for. If we were to run all day we would still run on sacred ground. We thought this could never change.