"As the weeks passed, however, I accepted aloneness as a way of life and I was no longer lonely. I was utterly absorbed in the work, fascinated by the chimps, too busy in the evening to brood. In fact, had I been alone for longer than a year I might have become a rather strange person, for inanimate objects began to develop their own identities: I found myself saying “Good morning” to my little hut on the Peak, “Hello” to the stream where I collected my water. And I became immensely aware of trees; just to feel the roughness of a gnarled trunk or the cold smoothness of young bark with my hand filled me with a strange knowledge of the roots under the ground and the pulsing sap within. I longed to be able to swing through the branches like the chimps, to sleep in the treetops lulled by the rustling of the leaves in the breeze. In particular, I loved to sit in a forest when it was raining, and to hear the pattering of the drops on the leaves and feel utterly enclosed in a dim twilight world of greens and browns and dampness."