When I woke up on the morning of the first big snow storm this season, I went to the picture window and looked out at the lake. There’s a tree rooted in the shoreline that leans out over the water, and everyone who visits wonders when it’s going to fall in. I see the tree every day, so I don’t register its decline as much as those who see it once or twice a year. “Wow, that tree is going to fall in!” It’s not something I have enjoyed talking about. I’d rather think that this healthy tree just grows that way, not that the ground it’s rooted in is too crumbly to support it. “Yeah, it could happen, but it’s been like that for so long, so who knows?”
I stand in the in the window and contemplate the tree. Heavy snow is piling up on it — not enough to matter, I think it’ll be fine — and I try to picture the shoreline without it there. Would it look bald or like it had never even been there? We commune. Then I walk away and crawl back under the covers with my coffee. Had I lingered a moment longer, I would have seen it fall in.
Ilse Thompson 
Hi Ilse, that is splendid. I write on occasion of dropping in to your blog here to enjoy the writing, & specifically just now, noticing how you used the camera on the upper of the two images of the tree. At the right, what is a camera’s weakness of dynamic range (it looks all washed out yellow where the sky is bright) only lends itself to a sense of mistiness in the clouds. It works wonderfully compositionally. That just struck me just now.
I’m also reminded of Radiolab’s episode on the “Pitch Drop Experiment.”
I hope it’s a good Winter there for all of you! Bye for now, – Phil
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