In Praise of Forests

As a Silvia, I've always felt a special attachment to forests.
Symbolic and mysterious, forests hold some of the mother's womb features and trigger the powerful fascination of the unknown and unexplored.
In fairy tales, forests are often an obstacle to be overcome and their crossing a door leading to adulthood.
Their sounds are those of nature, reassuring in that they aren't man-made, scary because, used to the city, we are unable to name them.
Their gnarled shapes offer protection from the sunlight at daytime but turn into long-armed living creatures when hit by the moonlight.
Wandering around the Tate Modern in London, a few days ago, I caught a glimpse of a forest. It was Max Ernst's Forest and Dove, a magnetic painting dating from 1927. Ernst did feel the fascination of the forest and dedicated a series of paintings to it. He even gave a definition of the forest, answering the question "What is a forest?". His definition fully grasps the duality of the forest and of the feelings it arouses.

"The wonderful sense of being simultaneously outdoor and in; free and imprisoned".

Just do it

I was once dating this American guy, who was also teaching me English. One evening, he offered to listen to a song carefully, in order to do some listening comprehension and discuss the song meaning. The title of the song is The Fox in the Snow and it is by Belle and Sebastian, a lovely Scottish indie-pop band.

It's a song about loneliness, uncontrollable (compulsive?) behaviours and life, I think, and at some point it goes:

"Girl in the snow, where do you go
To find someone who will do?
To tell someone all the truth before it kills you
They listen to your crazy laugh
Before you hang a right
And disappear from sight
What do they know anyway?
You'll read it in a book
What do they know anyway?
You'll read it in a book tonight"

The debate arose when we were interpreting the last four lines. In my opinion, the girl's scorn for what others understand and know about herself and life is emphasised by the fact that she can read it in a book: if it can all fit into a book, they must know very little! Moreover, it's a book she can read in one night, so it can't be that long, either.
Not so for Mr T, who held (together with some famous philosophers, he said) that nothing is worth doing that can be read about in a book.
Well, but isn't there more to life?

No, thanks

A few days ago, I was travelling on a bus along one of Milan ringroads and at some point I heard a lady saying "No, thanks". When I turned towards her, wondering whether she was refusing the offer of a seat or what- on earth- could ever be sold on a bus, I realised, to my surprise, it wasn't a gentleman offering his seat (how weird!), nor a peddler selling his goods. It was a drunkard, just begging. Apparently, this is the new reply beggars are to get by well-to-do ladies in Milan. It wasn't the first time I'd heard it, so I couldn't help but wonder: What are these ladies thanking them for?
Are beggars selling anything? As far as my social skills tell me, one normally replies "No, thanks" to an offer, not to a request. Is it the beggar's dignity that the lady was refusing?
Or was this a Brechtian Verfremdungseffekt strategy the lady used to distance herself from the situation so as to avoid empathy?
One thing is sure: the beggar walked off looking pretty puzzled and so did I.