A group interested in the forest as having a language of its own, went into the forest in Wyanad to gather impressions. These were given form through poetry, but also installations, using objects that had been gathered from the forest.

I can’t hold

                                                                The shadows and the sunlight,

                                                                The spaces and the stillness ,

                                                                The slight stir of movement

                                                                Or the sounds of  falling ripeness.

                                                                I can’t hold

                                                                The order of disorder

                                                                And the mingling of meetings

                                                                Layer upon layer,

                                                                Side by pulsing side.

                                                                I gather just some syllables

                                                                That alone mean nothing

                                                                But when together

                                                                Sing a world.

                                                                                                Jane