I have been thinking: if I cannot save the seven chestnuts on the hotel terrace in Motovun, what are my chances of saving Istrian forests, let alone those of the Amazon? Zilch. Whether I assume that I am incompetent or impotent, or that the rest of humanity is stark raving crazy, the answer is still the same: zilch. Perhaps my only ability is to foresee things to come. Perhaps I am a born prophet, nothing more or less. There is no joy in this realization, but at least there is no pain, either. Goodbye chestnuts. Goodbye Istrian forests. Goodbye Amazon forests. Goodbye humanity, too.