I woke this morning as I always do, lying on my right side looking out toward the lake. Usually, I wake long before the sun considers its appearance. Today was such a day. The sky was colored charcoal, like well worn asphalt, and everything is in silhouette. To my surprise, the tree man greets me once again. He's not quite the same as some leaves have blown away, altering his features somewhat. But he's there nonetheless. My heart is gladdened. This time I'm determined to figure out what makes him and how to position myself to find him. Noting the position of blinds and branches I rise triumphant for coffee. Later, returning in the light of day I lay in the same position. Despite knowing he's there he is difficult to spot with blue skies and various branches and leaves and colors. I've discovered that part of his features - nose and mouth - are actually created by a fern that sits in our sunroom. All those textures and colors compete for attention and make him nearly impossible to spot.
The starkness of silhouette is what makes him possible at all. The busyness of the day and brightness of colors turns the magic off, turning him back into bark and leaf, fern and branch. It's amazing what one can see in the quiet, when one's mind is silent, when you're still and not seeking. I't comforting to know that these simple things are there waiting for us. Like the Tree Man.