The landscape of pine has been blackened, especially that of pine insignis (Pinus radiata). It's also known as black pine or rapid pine. Black pine, in fact, has blackened the landscape of the mountains in which it has grown, and its pine forests are black at all times of the year. From far away they look blue, but that's an illusion, a fascination; it's like a mirage; from far away, all the mountains and groves are blue. You always look at the landscape around you, and you'll see the most distant, blue territory. So if you want to create a bigger look on a small piece of land, put blue plants at the limit, like really blue trees.

Despite the appearance of blue, the black pine landscape has become even blacker. Blackened, but also bluish. Black pine becomes a kind of whirlwind. Blacks have been overwhelmed by the future. In fact, bluish is the finish. The hair and the beard will be melted. It is sweetened when bread flourishes or peels on molds. The one who gets gray is called bluish.

From the painting that comes, everything that is screamed starts to finish, it is directed towards the finish. Who they are is also shattered gray. Black pine has faded. The pines of her mother and her grandmother, also black, will be overshadowed. The black became gray. Weak, miserable... Black pine is scarce. Esquilo disappeared. He died slowly. Very little has been lost. Esquilo disappeared. And the inevitable, the inevitable, the necessary, the inevitable.

Green, black, blue, gray; many colors become yours, black pine. But the reds are waiting for him. It's still about to discover and pass redder and redder things. The black pines saw the pines flushed by the side, pretending to ignore themselves. In fact, he is well aware that his caste began a long time ago and that, in part, his decay. He knows he was attacked by the fungus of the earth, as he assaulted his mother. And he knows that lately other fungi, coming from air, are attacking the foliage, creating at first some small stains on the leaves, then drowning all the way around the leaf and, finally, pulling it off the top. The leaf of her heart, the leaf that gives her a food, a leaf that knows that without her she can only die. It will collapse without leaves and in the weakened wood white and yellow fungi will flourish, rounding the rainbow of the pine fast.