In front of this tree, one cannot escape the idea that the duration of our existence is relative. This plane tree, among others in the green spaces of Missillac, knows the history of the last three centuries. So the plant is raised to the rank of a character with a secular but living reputation. Its ramifications, ghostly at dusk, are similar to that of a genealogy. Its extensive network, some of whose enormous branches skirt the ground to find support and bounce towards the sky, is the image of a nervous system with an immense memory. Its fibers, its sap, its bark contain more stories than the cellulose of the pages of a whole library. Only the ink will not have flowed. Immobile witness of the events, it is a little the conductor of the youngest who are around, playing of their branches in all the seasons, when the wind rushes there. Tonight the Maestro Pendula d'Orient sets the tone.