As the sandy backwoods path opened to a clearing, a barely-leafed tree called to me. Its trunk resembled a totem pole from this distance: bands of varying grey, and darker markings and knots that could double as faces. I was drawn, too, at the sharp contrast between tree and ground. A cover of moss radiated a green brilliance, soft and inviting. As I approached, I wondered what symbols I would choose as totems—hawk for vision, deer for gentleness, otter for playfulness, cat for mystery. When I got close to the tree, I smiled at how imagination gives way to tangible streaks, cracks, crevices, sap. I stood and took in the real of it, snapped a photo. Only when I later looked at the image in my lens did I see the ray of light linking tree and sun. A revelation: what I saw met what I was not seeing yet, but was also there, real. Surprised, I shook my head at the gift of it, and knelt down to stroke the moss.
