I come from the mists of time, I have survived all the tumults, all the cataclysms, all the horrors.
I am a botanical enigma, a sublime solitude, a miracle.

With my red trunk and blue foliage, I am the most beautiful pine in Europe. A tireless explorer, I can be found from the Gaelic land on the edge of the Urals, from the endless Siberian forests to the Andalusian Cordilleras.

My leaf is webbed like a blessing hand, my fruit is a ball swollen with fertile seeds like an ovary, one can find refuge and consolation in the hollow of my trunk or in the shade of my branches.

I am the tree of traditions, of warm family vigils, of the feverish impatience of the children and of the glittering balls in which the candles are reflected.

I follow the long silhouette, the sinister flame lined up along the roads like a procession of convicts. Elegant spindle ill-treated by the rains and gusts of wind that scatter my seeds.

I sprinkle the slopes of the mountains with gold, dressing their autumn in a sumptuous mantle, before raining down my soft and supple needles when the frosts of winter come.

I am the venerable tree, symbol of forgiveness, peace and reconciliation.

I'm a little lazy, yet I'm found everywhere in the hands of the workers: in the handles of their shovels, rakes or axes.

Ah, if men did not exist, I would cover the whole of Europe with dark forests like green cathedrals, with erect trunks for pillars.

Je suis le compagnon des hommes depuis des siècles mais notre relation est très particulière. Je veille sur les tombes de leurs aïeux, sombre vigie immobile, ombrageux esprits de leurs ancêtres.

Arbre féminin, je suis la douceur et la gourmandise. Le miellat de mes feuilles est sucé par les pucerons et les cochenilles puis léché par les abeilles.

I am the emblem of the Canadians that I enchant each fall with the splendour of my foliage. I regale them with my syrup.

I am the majestic symbol of a beautiful and tortured country: Lebanon.